


The Impossibilities Chronicles-Book One

by hallowgirl



Series: The Impossibilities Chronicles [1]
Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Cross-Party Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Movie Nights, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:34:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 233,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowgirl/pseuds/hallowgirl
Summary: Arguing is petty. Debating is....professional.
Relationships: David Cameron/Ed Miliband
Series: The Impossibilities Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657903
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11





	1. The Arts Of Car Journeying, Tea Spilling And Phone Rescuing (Or, How To Survive An Afternoon Without Making Headlines)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which it should be possible to spend an afternoon together without a fight. Should be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started off as one really long piece of fic, which loads of you were commenting on and reading, but I realised it was going to get to a ridiculous length so would work much better as a series.  
First: yes, this is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
Second: yes, I include a lot of references at the end of each chapter. This is because people were asking for real-life references for the real-life events acting as aforementioned backdrop. It is also partly because I want to make it clear that all information used for this fic is public and that no private information whatsoever is being used. Also, I quite like it. You don't have to read them to enjoy the story, but they provide a bit of background colour and info about some of the references made. If you can't read any of the articles for whatever reason, just send me a message on Tumblr and I'll find a way for you to. :)  
Third: yes, I also include a lot of quote references from politics books (at the start of each chapter, before the epigraphs). This is for much the same reason as the factual references at the end. Again, feel free to skip them and go straight to the main story, though they're there to add a bit of background info and colour if you find them interesting. I'll put a little comment in the notes at the start, letting you know what's in the quotes, so you can skip if you want. One of the main reasons for the amount is to try to highlight different points of view so I don't get accused of just obviously only using books favourable to one side.  
Fourth: I'll try to add Trigger Warnings (TW) if there's anything I consider to be triggering in the chapter or references. If I miss anything, apologies, and let me know if you think something needs a TW.  
Fifth: do not get into arguments about politics here. This is fanfic. It's not intended to be a genuine depiction of or a moral treatise on politics or which side you should take. When I started this fic years ago, it was because I idly noticed that politics seemed to be getting pretty bitter and divided and thought it would kind of be interesting to see if those divides could be crossed. Years later, that opinion of politics being pretty bitter and divided hasn't exactly been disproved. This is not intended to be any kind of political sermon. I like to think that nobody is perfect and very few people are genuinely completely evil. Everyone is the hero of their own story, which is the approach I take writing this. And at the time of this being posted-in the middle of the Covid-19 outbreak, for those of you in the future-it's a time when most people are just doing their best and trying to get through life.  
Sixth: if you want to ask me anything about this fic, let me know what you like about it, or just chat, you can find me on my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) .  
Seventh: thank you to everyone who commented, kudosed, sent asks, etc. about the original fic,, especially those who chat with me on Tumblr about it. I hope you'll all keep following it now it's in series format, even though you'll have already read these chapters if you're a longtime reader, and feel free to leave comments, kudos, etc., here too (I'm not going to take down the original fic bc I want to keep all comments & kudos.)  
Eighth: Leave a comment if you like it. Enjoy reading it. Remember it's all fiction. Stay well (in case you're reading this in the future, this was posted in the middle of the COVID-19 epidemic and worldwide lockdowns.) And have fun reading. :)  
(For this chapter, the quotes at the start deal mainly with David and Ed's fallout over Syria in 2013.)

_When summer is over, winter becomes sad too, because opposites often admire each other secretly.-Mehmet Murat ildan_

_All opposites are so much each other that they are perfectly inseparable-Ken Wilber._

_You can't protest these things. My tiny share of fame-it puts my name up for grabs. I accept that. It's not that I'm so terribly important, that anyone is obligated to have fantasies about me. But if you accept my view that intellectual property is kind of a chimera, then that includes the names and personae of we who drift into the public sphere. I'm a fiction, inventing myself as I go along-but why should I be the only one with the right?-"Interview With Jonathan Lathem", Fic: Why Fanfiction Is Taking Over The World, Anne Jamison_

_His line about confirming prejudices is a clue to something that has been troubling me in the 24 hours I have spent with him. I realise that Cameron shares an unexpected flaw with the man he's fighting for the premiership. Both of them are decent men who wish the best for their country, but have such a profound and instinctive sense of the moral righteousness of their politics that they are simply baffled when others don't agree with them. For Cameron, a strong economy is the precondition for a good society; for Miliband, it's inequality that must be dealt with first. These things are so obvious to them that they can't explain them to non-believers. That's why neither of them is reaching out beyond their political base. They struggle to make converts because the only starting point they understand is their own._

_This election is still on a knife edge and no one can be sure of the result. It is a stark choice between two very different prescriptions for the future.-24 Hours With David Cameron, Times, 28 March 2015_

_"Nothing is really impossible if you put your mind to it. After all, as I once said...I was the future once."-David Cameron, former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, in his last Prime Minister's Question Time, 13th July 2016_

* * *

_At the moment of greatest crisis (with their disabled son, Ivan), when we were near to breaking point, I found someone who would become very special in the life of our family. Gita Lama, a young Nepalese woman, had worked for a diplomatic family in London and subsequently registered with an organisation that represented domestic workers at risk of abuse and helped them find new work. She became Ivan's night carer, and would later help us look after him at the weekends at Dean. She loved Ivan as if he were her own, and went on to look after our other children in Downing Street. Now married with a son of her own, she remains a good friend of the family.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_The focus now shifts to Labour. Their support is crucial for the vote. Cameron's team expect Ed Miliband to be wholly supportive. **"It is probably fair to say that we started with the expectation that chemical weapons used against innocent people by a murderous regime was a pretty clear red line, so we were not expecting it to be difficult with them."** It turns out to be far from easy. Cameron's first call to Miliband is on Tuesday afternoon. The Labour leader falls short of full support. **"The evidence has to be clear"** he tells Cameron, who mulls over with his team exactly what Miliband means. **"He seemed to imply that he wanted to find a way to support military action"** they conclude. Later on Tuesday, Miliband comes into Downing Street with shadow Foreign Secretary Douglas Alexander to see Cameron, Clegg and Hague. Cameron briefs them on what they know about the chemical attack on Damascus. He says there is still no final decision from Obama, who is asking the British to be ready to take part, **"but we have yet to give our reply."** **"We want to have a multilateral approach with the UN to ensure that any action would be proportional, legal and focused on deterring chemical weapons use, rather than having a wider role in the conflict."** Cameron tells Miliband about the NSC meeting planned for the following day and Cabinet on Thursday. **"I hope we can act on an all-party basis to deplore chemical weapons use and put pressure on the regime"** Cameron says. Clegg backs him up:**"I am thoroughly convinced that chemical weapons have been used. They have been outlawed since the 1920s. It is abhorrent. It is not about changing the wider conflict dynamic, but standing up to chemical weapons."** Miliband listens carefully before responding with four prepared questions: **"What about the UN inspectors and their efforts, and why not wait? What legal authority would we be acting on? What would be the military objectives? How would it be demonstrable that we'd be stopping something worse happening and avoiding escalation?"** Cameron replies that he is happy to share information on a Privy Council basis, meaning that Miliband and Douglas Alexander would be bound to confidentiality. He says that the legal advice is clear, that he will be hoping for support at the UN, and that it is important at least to try to stop chemical weapons. Both Labour politicians ask why they cannot try for a UN Security Council Resolution, and probe more about the timescale for action. Cameron replies that they are unaware of precise US intentions but do not anticipate any strikes before Thursday. Miliband responds: **"I really don't want to oppose this, but we have to take the public with us."** Cameron promises to brief him on further evidence and on the precise military objectives. Miliband expresses concern that **"the parliamentary time plan is very tricky." "Yes, it is all a tricky balance"** agrees Cameron, adding **"To be fair, this is only about action that would be legal and aimed at chemical weapons." "What if they keep using them? What can we do to build wider legitimacy?"** asks Alexander. The meeting serves only to confirm the sense among Cameron, Clegg and Hague that Labour want to find a way to support them._

_Later that evening, Miliband phones the PM. Cameron's team believe that Miliband has been talking to shadow Cabinet colleagues and is getting cold feet. **"We can't do this without a UN Resolution, or if a UN Resolution is vetoed by Russia"** Miliband says. Further calls take place between their chiefs of staff that evening. Cameron decides that he must himself speak to Mark Lyall Grant, British Permanent Representative at the UN, to see what more can be done in New York. He realises that before any British decision is made, Labour will want to be reassured that every possible UN avenue has been fully explored...Wednesday 28 August is a difficult day. **"The mood changed in those little gatherings in the prime minister's office on the Wednesday."**...Miliband is becoming more sceptical by the hour. Opinion divides in Cameron's team between those who think he is being influenced by pressure from sceptical Labour colleagues, and those who believe his whole stance is part of a cynical ploy. Cameron himself is starting to wonder whether Labour are serious about action. Miliband's team are adamant that at no point was he ever convinced about the need for action and neither did he ever convey that impression to Cameron. **"Both the Conservatives and Labour had reasons to think that Miliband was consistent: more consistently playing a game, say the Conservatives, or more consistently doubtful, say Labour"** as one observer puts it.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_Over the course of the Wednesday, it becomes clear that Labour support will be **"essential"** if the vote is to be carried. Cameron meets Osborne and Hague for forty minutes at 8.30 am before the NSC meeting, while Clegg joins the conversation at 9.10. They debate Labour's evolving thinking, but are as uncertain about what is going on in the mind of Miliband as in the mind of Obama. They agree that if Labour tables an amendment to say that there must be an attempt at a UNSCR, then the government will lose....Despite its reservations the NSC agrees that the British should support any American action. It recommends that British military planes should be deployed in a bombing campaign, and that Cabinet should be asked to endorse that decision the following day. At 2.30 p.m. on Wednesday, Miliband and Douglas Alexander are invited back to Downing Street to meet Cameron, Clegg and Hague. Alexander maintains that **"we were open to support the government"** still at that stage. Cameron opens by saying: **"As you asked, we have taken action and we have written to Ban Ki-moon, we have had consultations with the P5 for a Chapter 7 Resolution"**, authorising military action, as in Libya. Miliband and Alexander unleash another torrent of questions: **"How can the Security council discuss this quickly enough for a vote tomorrow? Have the inspectors finished their work yet?"** Two days earlier, Ban Ki-moon had said a further week's work was required before the inspectors completed their evidence-gathering. This timetable puts Cameron in a weaker position. **"You are talking about this UN Security Council meeting as a moment, as theatre, not substance"** Alexander says. **"How can the Commons vote before weapons inspections?"** Miliband asks. Cameron replies: **"We're going to take a look at the motion because I think it answers everything. It puts down caveats and says the things you want." "I need some time to reflect" **Miliband replies. Cameron is visibly uncomfortable: **"Time is tight. I've tried to get your signature. I've tried to meet your need with lots of clauses and a long motion. If it's not likely to get your support, I need to know because then I'll go for a shorter approach."** Clegg is staunch in his support. **"Look, this is a moment in history and we all have to choose. Do events require a response? Is this response good enough? It's not about process, although process is very important."**_

_They are now arguing openly with each other. **"It's not about process, it's about legitimacy"** Alexander says, mindful again of Iraq. **"This is all unlikely to succeed because we know we won't get the UNSCR because of the Russians"** insists Cameron. Alexander says, **"Legitimacy is about letting the inspectors work too. It's about letting the inspectors finish."** Miliband is defiant. **"Process matters, it's crucial for support and legitimacy. Our government got it wrong in 2003."** Clegg takes over the running: **"This couldn't be more different from Iraq. We have to make a judgement as leaders. We know a war crime was committed last week, on Wednesday. The French, the Arab League, everyone agrees it was Assad. Yes this process is important, but we have to make a judgement."** Clegg is furious. **"I could tell Ed Miliband was thinking this'll be a good way of absolving his party of Iraq and embarrassing the Liberal Democrats"** he recalls. **"He had a choice to do something big or score points, and he chose the latter."** The meeting breaks up with Cameron telling his Labour interlocutors: **"Have a look at the motion-I've tried to capture your views in it." ** He is exasperated.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_At 5.25p.m., Miliband phones Downing Street. **"I won't support the notion. I've talked to the shadow Cabinet. I will not be supporting the motion. We would need another vote after the inspectors have reported."** While he is still on the line, Cameron confers quickly with Osborne, Hague and Young. **"Whatever we do tomorrow"** Miliband says, **"we need to go back to the Commons and have another vote before military action, after the inspections."** After the call, Cameron turns to his colleagues forlornly. A second vote doesn't look remotely possible with the timetable the White House is envisaging with attacks still expected on Friday. It looks like **"amateur hour"**, Osborne says. **"This won't end well**" predicts Hague. **"Our options are narrowing."**_

_Number 10 now learn that Labour will be producing their own amendment. A furious government source tells the press that **"Number 10 and the Foreign Office think Miliband is a fucking cunt and a copper-bottomed shit. The French hate him now and he's got no chance at building an alliance with the US Democratic Party." ** In Cameron's office, they cannot allow their fury with Miliband to cloud their judgement...Mid-afternoon, a meeting is convened in the chancellor's room in the Commons. Much anger is directed towards the Conservative MPs opposing them, and towards Miliband personally: **"Each time we've tried to incorporate him, he's slipped through the noose and makes out he disapproves"** says one of the team...**"The way Miliband played it brought Cameron and Clegg closer together"** thinks senior Lib Dem policy aide Julian Astle. **"They both felt Miliband was playing short-term opportunistic games with a very serious issue."**-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_Jo made no attempt to tone down her world view to placate anyone. In fact, even during the campaign she made it clear that she differed from Ed Miliband, the Labour leader at the time, when it came to issues like Syria. She really liked Ed, but she was disappointed when, after he had been asked to list some of his proudest moments in politics, he included a decision not to back military action in Syria. Jo pointed out that it felt wrong for someone to be proud of anything to do with Syria. Global inaction and incompetence had caused huge human suffering, the biggest refugee crisis in Europe for years and the rise of ISIS. She argued for much more active engagement in Syria as the best way of stopping the carnage of innocent civilians.-Jo Cox: More In Common, Brendan Cox_

_Nick (Clegg) said he'd spoken to Ed Miliband:** "I can't believe that he's going to play the left-wing card over Syria, as the press will tear him to pieces. Does he want the blame for chemical weapons being used again by Assad in the future?"** In the evening I spoke to Matt Sanders, who said that he'd sat in a lot of meetings with Miliband and his team over the whole press regulation issue. Matt said that the striking thing about Ed Miliband was that he didn't seem to carry a great deal of respect amongst people from his own party, from Harriet Harman down....Nick finally came in, and there was quite a contrast with his demeanour when I last saw him on Tuesday. He was again looking quite frayed. He said he'd been in meetings with Cameron and Miliband all day. He said that he and Cameron are completely aligned but it had been a nightmare dealing with Ed Miliband, who was showing himself to be **"weak-willed and hopelessly tactical."** Every time Miliband had agreed to and secured one particular concession, he would then move the goalposts and start asking for something else. Cameron and Nick had shown him the legal advice from the Attorney General, they've agreed to a UN process of approval, even though the Russians will inevitably veto this, they've taken his views over the motion that's going down in the Commons for debate this Thursday, and they've now finally agreed that there will be a separate second vote after the original vote on Thursday, so that Parliament can have a view after the UN inspectors have reported back. In spite of this, Miliband is still playing hard to get, and having said yesterday that he was committing the Labour Party to supporting the government, he now appears to be trying to weasel out of the whole thing. Nick said he really despaired about Miliband and felt that he came across as a very weak and indecisive leader who is constantly looking over his shoulder at his own party and the potential for creating political mischief...2.30pm Cameron kicked off the debate. He was fine but not great, and what was striking was how unsupportive the Tory benches were. Ed Miliband then got up, and this was clearly his moment. However, he was also deeply unimpressive, and the impression soon clearly dawned on most people even on his own benches that what he was setting out was a tactical position, to unite his party, oppose the government, but not completely come out against action. A total fudge, in other words. I came to the same conclusion as Nick-that Miliband simply doesn't have the balls to make a great party leader or a great Prime Minister. Even if he wins in the short term, I think he will be the loser in the longer term..._

_The government was defeated by thirteen on its own motion. Ed Miliband rose. This could have been his moment to be statesmanlike by making clear that we now needed to follow the process as set out in his amendment, and go down the UN route and have the second vote, but without ruling out action. Instead, he made some silly little point about asking for a reassurance that action wouldn't be taken without a second vote. David Cameron was clearly better prepared for the defeat. He said that he took the mood of the House of Commons and of the public, and the UK now wouldn't be part of the military action. Cameron was decisive, but also looked quite shocked and upset. The truth is that this is a huge blow to him as Prime Minister, and it also massively diminishes the UK's position in the world. Nick texted later: **"It's dismal. Isolation and grubby opportunism in equal measure."** I think that's about right. Essentially the government was defeated by the grubby opportunism of Labour, the isolationism of some members of the Tory Party and, I'm afraid, by the wobbliness of many Lib Dems.-"Tuesday 27th August 2013-Wednesday 28th August 2013-Thursday 29th August 2013", The Coalition Diaries: 2012-2015, David Laws_

_**"By the way" **said Nick, before we parted. **"There is another person who is being incredibly difficult over this: Miliband. I spoke to him earlier on today. I am worried about how difficult Miliband could be. It feels like he is pretty nervous and indecisive, and he may find his own people pretty split. But I cannot believe he is going to play politics over this, when Obama is leading and when chemical weapons have clearly been used. If he plays politics, the right-wing press will tear him to pieces and he will be seen to be weak and unfit to be Prime Minister."...**Nick had only been back from his long holiday for about forty-eight hours, but when he came in he looked frayed and tired. **"Sorry to keep you all"** he said. **"I've been in meetings with Cameron and Miliband all day. It's interesting that big, controversial stuff like this always brings Cameron and me together. He's been very impressive over the last few days. (George) Osborne is, as ever, being rather tactical, and I am afraid Ed Miliband is totally unreliable. I am fast losing respect for him. Every time there is a big decision-Alternative Vote, Lords, Syria-Miliband has the chance to act big, but he always, always acts small. I really think that if there is a hung parliament after the next general election, and there is a possibility of a Lib-Lab coalition, Miliband's weakness would be a real problem in working together. Cameron and I have tried all day to get Miliband on board but every time we move our position to meet his demands he just moves further away from us. We made six concessions and after each one he just moved again. We've even showed him the Attorney General's advice, and we've agreed on a second vote before military action, and still he won't agree to the motion we want to put down. So I have come to the view that Miliband is just determined to oppose this. Either he cannot untie his party, or he has one eye on public scepticism in the polls."**...Nick said that they were now going to give UN inspectors time to confirm the use of chemical weapons, and that once they had reported there would be a second vote before any military action. This all sounded rather elongated to me, but it did emphasise the trouble being taken to keep Ed Miliband on board and to make a strong case internationally...Later that morning, Nick spoke again to Ed Miliband. He underlined his view that the case for action was incredibly strong: **"We cannot just stand by and see chemical weapons used. This is totally different from Iraq. You really need to make a choice."** Ed Miliband replied by saying that he had already made his choice-Labour would be voting against the coalition motion. The Labour leader explained that he could not get his MPs to support the action, and in any case he felt there needed to be a **"much more UN-based route."**..._

_The debate began at 2.30 p.m., and David Cameron was fine but not great. Most of the interventions from Conservative backbenchers were critical of government policy-another ominous sign. Ed Miliband replied for the opposition and it was soon clear even to his own side that what he was setting out was a tactical position, to unite his own party and exploit government divisions, rather than setting out a principled strategy. I listened carefully to Miliband's deeply unimpressive contribution and came to the same conclusion that Nick Clegg had done over the past few days-that Ed Miliband simply didn't have the leadership qualities to make a great party leader, let alone a great Prime Minister. Even if he wins this debate, I concluded, he may well be the bigger long-term loser from all this....There was uproar in the House of Commons. This was the moment for Ed Miliband to be principled and statesmanlike, but he wasn't. If he had been seriously committed to the contents of his own party's motion, he would now have tried to secure a consensus for action on a slower timetable-instead he crowed about the coalition's defeat. David Cameron responded to the defeat swiftly and decisively. He accepted that we had lost the vote and said that UK armed forces would not now be taking part in any military action against Syria. It was, in truth, a huge blow to the Prime Minister-the first time a government had lost a vote on an issue of war for over 200 years. Nick Clegg was also deeply disappointed: **"It's dismal. Isolation and grubby opportunism in equal measure" **he commented to me later that night....**"Yes, it's damaged Cameron and the UK. It's the legacy of Iraq, where people no longer take things on trust. But Cameron has acted with extraordinary agility to just accept defeat and move on. He has an animal-like sense of when he's weak and how to defend himself. And he has actually been very impressive over Syria. In spite of the defeat, its drawn us together again after a long period of bruising coalition disputes. On this issue, we have been completely aligned."...**_

_Meanwhile, Ed Miliband had secured a short-term victory that some shrewd observers thought might turn into a longer-term defeat. His sceptical position had been on the side of public opinion. But what the public saw was not a strong, principled leader standing up for what he believed in, but a man who was not in control of his party, and who had ducked and weaved over a matter literally of life and death. In a devastating commentary in the Times newspaper a few days after the vote, under the headline**"Ed Miliband is no leader. He is a vulture"**, David Aaronovitch wrote: **"The Syria vote crystallised his failings...and though you can just about see how in a bad year Ed Miliband could become Prime Minister, what I cannot any longer pretend...is that he would be a good one. I think he would be a disaster. Strangely, I think both the country and his party already know it."**-Coalition: The Inside Story Of The Conservative-Liberal Democrat Coalition Government, 2010-2015, David Laws_

_The PM called Miliband for an exploratory chat and then invited him to Number Ten for a more extensive conversation. He acknowledged that any Opposition leader in time of conflict was in a **"difficult position."** He or she could not afford to be seen as a pushover, rubber-stamping decisions taken by HMG. Cameron understood that, if he wanted Miliband's help, he would have to help him too. The Labour leader had to be able to persuade his own parliamentary party that he was not merely cheering on Cameron from the sidelines; that the Opposition was scrutinizing the plan effectively and that Miliband himself was a participant in an international humanitarian endeavour, rather than a passive observer of a Coalition war. In his initial conversations with Cameron, Miliband returned repeatedly to the need for UN involvement-a reasonable request, as far as the PM was concerned, as long as it did not hand Putin a veto over every act of British foreign policy. The intention, Cameron insisted, was not to embroil the West in all-out war but to shock Assad with a moment of fiery resolve, and to force him to the negotiating table in order to plan the new Syria...In their first and second meetings at Number Ten, Cameron felt that Miliband was being **"helpful and responsible"**, voicing concerns but signalling as clearly as he could that the operation was politically **"doable."** In retrospect, the Prime Minister could not decide whether the Labour leader's subsequent withdrawal of support was a straightforward act of sabotage, or the consequence of Miliband's own miscalculation of Labour opinion: he didn't deliver his own party's vote because, as it turned out, he couldn't._

_A bit of both, perhaps. As Coalition and Labour draftsmen set about wording a motion that Miliband could support, it became increasingly clear to Cameron that the negotiations were not going to end well. As he complained to NSC colleagues, he had **"bent over backwards"** to accommodate Labour, publishing an intelligence document and a summary ruling by the Attorney General. Osborne warned that Miliband might not be able to unite his Shadow Cabinet, let alone the Labour parliamentary party, behind some form of intervention. In the debate, Miliband claimed that the intelligence disclosed so far was **"important"** but that **"we need to gather further evidence over the coming days"**. Labour looked forward in a leisurely way to a **"sequential road map"** as if discussing a conference agenda rather than an imminent military operation. The final motion was not even an explicit endorsement of military action, but called instead for an appropriate response once the investigations of UN weapons inspectors were complete. Determined to exhaust every possibility, Osborne made an eleventh-hour appeal to Labour on ethical grounds: **"It's not going to happen (UK involvement in a strike) but just vote for this!"** But even the new wording was too much for MPs, who voted the motion down on 29 August by 285 votes to 272. To Miliband's surprise, Cameron pulled the plug there and then. It was clear, the PM said, that Parliament wanted no part in a strike against Assad and, whatever his own opinion, **"the government will act accordingly."** The visible delight of some on the Labour side, including Jim Murphy, then Shadow Defence Secretary, inflamed emotions further on the Coalition front bench. Michael Gove, usually the most civil member of the Cabinet, shouted: **"You're a disgrace!"** at the MPs who had stopped UK military action in its tracks._

_Clegg and his team were appalled by what they saw as Miliband's opportunism. What might it be like to govern in coalition with this man after the 2015 general election? The Lib Dem leader said it was essential that the party rule nothing out: its future depended upon an open-minded capacity to govern with the larger parties, and to work alongside their leaders. But-months after the vote on Syria-some of Clegg's team were still wondering aloud if they would be able to work alongside Miliband or to trust him. Similar thoughts crossed the mind of President Obama when he read a newspaper cutting explaining what Miliband had done. The Commander-In-Chief was furious, as President Bush had been with Michael Howard when he questioned aspects of the Iraq War. If Miliband became Prime Minister in May 2015, he would have to work with Obama for a year and a half until the latter completed his second term. This was not an auspicious omen for the Labour leader, a reminder that inaction, like action, has consequences. He might be able to secure the consulting services of David Axelrod, Obama's campaign guru in the 2008 and 2012 elections, as he did in April 2014. But winning the full confidence of the President himself would be a different matter entirely. When Jim Messina, one of Obama's most valued strategists, later told him that he had been hired by the Conservative Party and would be advising Cameron on how to beat Miliband, the Commander-in-Chief responded enthusiastically. **"Do whatever it takes"** he replied. **"I like that guy (Cameron)."** Getting the PM re-elected had become a presidential objective. Cameron and Osborne were furious with Miliband, naturally...But Iraq had disfigured Tory opinion more thoroughly than he fully realized until the Syrian debacle. Osborne reflected that countries take many years, sometimes decades, to recover from military trauma.-In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D'Ancona_

_The lights of the passing car swept the ceiling in a narrow arc, then vanished. The room was black again. Though not to his eyes. They'd long since adjusted to the darkness._

_It had been the right thing to do. He had no doubt about that. It was the right thing to do for the country, and for the party. And ultimately-although looking at the carnage unfolding on the news bulletins it was hard to visualize at the moment-it was the right thing for Syria, and the region. It was true that Rosie (Winterton) and Douglas (Alexander) had both told him they would have trouble holding the MPs in line. They hadn't been sure of the numbers. Maybe as low as forty. Perhaps as high as seventy. And that would have damaged him. There was no point denying it. A big part of what they'd been doing was to demonstrate how he'd managed to bring the party together after the election. A lot of people had warned it could all split apart. Well, it hadn't. He'd held things together. Which had been important for him. And important for the party, obviously. And it wasn't just the MPs. The members were getting very concerned. The anti-war lobby was beginning to rev the engine again. People like Diane Abbott and Jeremy Corbyn were rummaging through their wardrobes, looking for their bloodied Iraq War shirts. Actually, that was too harsh. A lot of people had a lot of serious concerns. And he'd told Cameron that._

_When he'd sat there in his study (it was still strange going in there. A bit like going back to dinner at your old house a couple of years after you'd sold it), he'd explained it all to him. It was vital, he'd said, that people could be reassured about the legality of the war. Failing to comprehensively interrogate the legality of the conflict was what had led to the Iraq catastrophe. Another issue was the intelligence. They couldn't afford another dodgy dossier. The available intelligence would have to be presented in a transparent way. Then there was the UN. They had to have international support. It couldn't look like it was another piece of British and US adventurism. The weapons inspectors' reports would also be hugely important. There didn't seem much doubt it had been Assad who had deployed chemical weapons. But the inspectors had to be given time to properly investigate and present their findings. And parliament had to have the final say. They would only be able to carry the country if parliament had given a firm stamp of approval to their plan of action. And to be fair, David Cameron had listened politely, and engaged courteously. He'd been in a "statesman mode", which involved pulling himself up a little higher in his chair and...talking...slightly...more....deliberately._

_Anyway, he'd set out his bottom lines, and over the course of the next forty-eight hours Cameron had responded. The legal advice would be published. As would-taking into account the usual national security considerations-the intelligence assessment. He would also be submitting a motion to the UN for approval by the P5. He could also guarantee no military action would be undertaken until the inspectors had reported. And he would allow not one but two Commons votes-an "in principle" authorization of the proposed intervention, and a second vote before any strikes were actually carried out. And that had all been good, and very helpful. But there were still serious problems. Rosie and Douglas had told him the rebellion was growing. And Hilary Benn had also begun identifying troubling issues with the military and diplomatic strategy. OK, some people were questioning why his Shadow Communities Secretary was advising him on matters like this. But Hilary had a sharp mind and solid judgement. And his name still carried a certain cache with the Left of the movement. Which was useful. Jim Murphy and Ivan Lewis were his defence and development spokesmen. And he'd listened to what they'd had to say. But they had a tendency to be a little bit too hot on this stuff. These were sensitive issues. Matters of war and peace. Emily Thornberry ahd also been invaluable. Not everyone liked Emily. She could be a little on the arrogant side. But as Shadow Attorney General, she brought a legal perspective to the debate. And, he'd started to realize, she was articulating a number of his own concerns about the government's strategy. If the attack against Syria did go ahead, what was the objective, she'd asked? The removal of Assad's chemical weapons? The removal of Assad himself? The end of the Syria conflict?_

_Which may have been a little bit outside her brief. But David Cameron hadn't really answered any of those questions. Perhaps he could have pressed him a little harder on those things when they'd met. But David Cameron was the Prime Minister, not him. It hadn't been his responsibility to put together the plan of attack. It had been his job to critique it, and-if he thought it was in the national interest-back it.-One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Miliband And Clegg: Three Men, One Ambition And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_And it had become increasingly apparent that David Cameron was having enough trouble convincing his own ministers and backbenchers to support the plan. The whips were picking up increasingly frantic activity from their Tory opposite numbers. The Bubble Breathers were reporting the rebellion on the Tory side was also building. Which wouldn't matter if he decided to throw his weight behind Cameron. Nick Clegg was just about managing to hold his MPs in line. So together they'd have the votes. But his own doubts had begun to increase by the hour. Obviously he had to address the issue on its merits. But if David Cameron was defeated, it would be a staggering blow to his authority. And if Cameron wasn't able to keep his own party together on the issue, he could hardly expect him to split his own apart to save the Prime Minister's skin._

_And then they'd seen the motion. Hilary Benn had been on to it straight away. Picked up a pen and began scribbling out a possible amendment. He knew the best way to defeat the government. And by doing so, stop the rush to war. They wouldn't rule out military action, but they would demand a number of safeguards. And the crucial one would be **"That such action must have regard to the potential consequences in the region, and must therefore be legal, proportionate, time-limited and have precise and achievable objectives designed to deter the future use of prohibited chemical weapons in Syria."** No-one could accuse them of ignoring Assad's atrocities. But they were demanding sensible and legitimate safeguards to ensure no repeat of the catastrophe of 2003. He hadn't started in that position. He was prepared to admit that to himself. His instinct had been to back the government in the same way he'd done on Libya. _

_But the more he'd thought about it, the more he'd come to the conclusion that this wasn't just the best course of action, it was the only course of action. Yes, there was an element of self-interest. Defeating David Cameron in such a dramatic way, on such a vital issue, could have untold political consequences for the government. But it was also the right thing to do. The country had been about to go to war. And he'd stopped that war. It had been the right thing to do and the morally correct thing to do. One of those rare occasions in politics when morality and self interest align. _

_Another yellow arc swept across the ceiling, and then vanished. It wouldn't be until the first shafts of daylight began inching across the ceiling that Ed Miliband finally managed to fall asleep.._

_The clock is still counting. And Ed Miliband has this momentary flash of a child huddling in the corner of a rubble-strewn building, with tears running down her dusty cheeks.-One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Miliband And Clegg: Three Men, One Ambition And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_Then, on Wednesday, 21 August (2013), events took a horrific turn. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of civilians had been killed in the rebel-held Damascus suburb of Ghouta. It was the long-dreaded large chemical attack. Surely this was the big event that would shock the world and shake us into action. I watched the horrific footage-infants fitting and foaming at the mouth, parents hysterical with fear and grief. The rows of lifeless children in the makeshift mortuaries reminded me of when we lost Ivan._

_Poison gas is heavier than air and sinks down into the shelters where civilians, including children, are hiding from the fighting above. It is totally indiscriminate, and is the most awful way to die. After the horrors it famously wrought during the First World War, the use of poison gas was banned by the Geneva Protocol in 1925..There was no doubt that Assad was responsible, or about the sort of gas that was used: sarin. Twenty times more deadly than cyanide. Stockpiled by the regime for years. It was carried on rockets that only the regime could access. These were the instruments of evil-and they were the actions of a tyrant emboldened and ruthless. That was it. Red line crossed..._.

_Now that a parliamentary vote on military action was on the horizon, there would be another major player to convince: Ed Miliband._

_Ed was a far better leader of the opposition than I would ever have admitted at the time. He knew just how much baggage his party was still carrying from Iraq: he had won the leadership after condemning Blair's actions. And he knew something I had also learned during five years as leader of the opposition: you never just hand a blank cheque to your opponent. But I don't think I'd ever have behaved as he did over Syria and the use of chemical weapons._

_The day we announced that Parliament would be recalled he came into Downing Street with the shadow foreign secretary Douglas Alexander, and his chief of staff Tim Livesey. He posed four questions: Shouldn't we wait for the UN inspectors' full report? What was the legal authority for action? What were the military objectives? How could we avoid escalation or making something worse happen? The answer to each was clear. A full UN resolution authorising force was a non-starter because we knew Russia would veto it. The legal advice was that our proposed action was lawful, and we would publish a summary. The mission was to deter and degrade, and it was not aimed to have effects over and above that. He called me that evening to say that the classified intelligence report we had given him proved the case for deterrence. It was indisputable. But then he called again, to say he was uncertain about two points-the timing of the report from the inspectors, and having a proper UN resolution. That was his new red line. I conceded._

_The following day, I saw him again. I had managed to deliver on both those things-our representative at the UN, Mark Lyall Grant, had circulated a proposed resolution to the Security Council, which the Russians had made very clear they would reject. Now I was giving Miliband the draft motion he wanted. Still, he said he'd have to take it away and look at it. I said we needed an answer by 4.pm., the deadline for tabling it. He didn't ring back until 5.15 p.m., when he said **"We-"-**it was very much** we**; you could tell he was under duress from his party-**"We don't think it goes far enough and can't support it."**_

_I was astounded, and furious. **"But I've given you what you want-the draft of the proper UN vote and the inspectors' report..."**_

_"**No, we need a second Commons vote"** he replied. _

_**"A second vote?!"** I said. He was pulling red lines out of thin air now. **"For heaven's sake Ed, this is ridiculous. You've never mentioned a second vote before. When do you think you're going to have this second vote?"**_

_**"On Sunday. You can reconvene on Sunday"** he murmured._

_**"This is hopeless. You've got to understand you're putting yourself on the side of Vladimir Putin and Bashar al-Assad by not standing up to this. Ed, we're going to lose this if we don't have Labour's support" **I said..._

_Ed Miliband's speech was dreadful. I was sure he had wanted to do the right thing initially, but he was no longer willing to do it. -For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

"_Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?"_

_"For the liveliness of your mind, I did."-Pride And Prejudice, Jane Austen_

_What is this feeling so sudden and new?_

_I felt the moment I laid eyes on you!_

_My pulse is rushing_

_My head is reeling_

_My face is flushing_

_What is this feeling fervid as a flame?_

_Does it have a name?_

_Yes, loathing! Unadulterated loathing!_

_-What Is This Feeling?, Wicked!_

_"Are you going to call plant social services on me?" asked Rooney, smiling cheekily. She seemed to be immensely enjoying having someone to banter with, like it was a welcome break from having to be peppy and polite. _

_Pip tilted her head. "Maybe I am plant social services and I'm just in disguise."_

_"It's not a very good disguise. You look exactly like the sort of person who's got at least six cactuses on your bookcase."_

_This seemed to be the last straw for Pip, because she snapped back, "I only have three, actually, and it's **cacti**, not **cactuses-"**_

_"Uh..." The two girls were interrupted by Jason, who, if he'd not had a headache before, definitely had one now....We stepped aside to let Pip and Rooney write down their emails on the list, all while they were having some sort of inane argument about which DST society they should join, and each of them seemed determined to establish that their choice was the correct choice and the other person's choice was utterly wrong. After several minutes of this, Jason eventually decided to end it by suggesting we all go to get pizza from the Domino's stand, which was giving out free slices._

_"I'm gonna carry on looking around for a bit" said Rooney. She moved her gaze from Pip to me. "Meet you at the entrance in like twenty minutes?"_

_I nodded._

_"Fab." Rooney looked back at Pip again and said, as if Jason didn't even exist, "How about we all meet up at St John's bar tonight? It's **so** fun down there, it's this tiny little basement bar..."_

_Most people would not have been able to tell what was up with Pip, but I'd known her for seven years, and she had this **look.** A slight narrowing of the eyes. Her shoulders hunched._

_The fact of the matter was: Pip had decided to hate Rooney. _

_"Yeah, we'll be there" Pip said, folding her arms._

_**"Yay"** said Rooney, smiling wide. "Can't **wait."**_

_Rooney wandered off into the mass of stalls again. Pip, Jason and I headed towards the Domino's stand, Pip's eyes never leaving the back of Rooney's head, and Jason asking Pip, "What the **fuck** was that?"-Loveless, Alice Oseman_

_She whispers "Thank you, Theodore Finch." She reaches up and kisses me on the cheek, and I can smell her shampoo, which reminds me of flowers. She says into my ear "If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll kill you." Carrying her boots, she hurries away and out of the rain, back through the door that leads to the flight of dark and rickety stairs that takes you down to one of the many too-bright and too-crowded school hallways.-All The Bright Places, Jennifer Niven_

* * *

"The fact that the Prime Minister refuses to answer the question just demonstrates how the leader of this country cannot even defend his own party's budget cuts-"  
"Order! _Order._ Prime Minister?"  
"What the Right Honourable Gentleman likes to ignore, Mr. Speaker, is the fact that it was _his_ party's overspending that has made these cuts necessary. He has not once, in the past five years, presented us with a possible solution to these difficulties and I have to ask him, Mr. Speaker, why the Right Honourable Gentleman seems perfectly willing to provide many problems but ignore the fact that his party left us with only _one_ solution."  
_"Order._ Mr.Ed Miliband?"  
"It's really quite unbelievable, Mr. Speaker, how the Prime Minister seems to forget that this is supposed to be the time when _I_ ask the questions and _he_ attempts to provide some answers-"  
"Order. Quiet, quiet, order-"  
"Though his primary tactic seems to be avoiding the questions put to him and focusing on the extraneous details-which is, coincidentally, the same tactic he uses when it comes to focusing on the top 1% and avoiding the issues of the poor whom he has a duty to assist."  
"Order. Order. _Order._ Order. Prime Minister?"  
"The same tired arguments he trots out again and again. And may I just ask, Mr. Speaker, of the man who claims to be in touch with the average members of the public, the struggles of the poor and the efforts of the working-class, on which floor of his five-storey house did he prepare that speech?"  
"Order. Order. Calm _down_-order-_order-"_  


* * *

  
  
It's not a prerequisite to _hate_ the Leader of the Opposition and had anyone asked David Cameron, he would have vehemently denied feeling any such thing towards Miliband. But, facing him across the table, the various voices echoing around him, he has to admit, there's a certain vindictive edge to seeing Miliband speechless-even if, as David knows from bitter experience, it will only be temporary-that comes rather closer than he would like.  


* * *

  
It's not a requirement to _loathe_ the Prime Minister-and even at times like these, Ed Miliband has to admit to himself that _loathe_ is a strong word-but there are definitely moments when you could come close.  
Ed watches Cameron across the room, vaguely listening to the sheer chaos raging around them both-Bercow's shouts of "Order! _Order!"_ are still being roundly ignored-and grits his teeth as he notices that familiar grin playing around Cameron's lips, as he takes his seat next to Osborne (who still appears to be helpless with laughter-nothing on Earth could be that amusing) and Ed fights with every inch of self-control he possesses to keep any hint of a smirk from his own mouth.  
If anyone had asked Ed Miliband, he would have completely denied it, but he has to admit, there's a small part of him that's glad that Bercow intervened when he did. The last thing he needs is to have Cameron's joke be amusing _and_ not even be able to come up with a good retort.  
Indeed, if this had actually been a session of Prime Minister's Questions, it would have been a nightmare.

* * *

  
Even with the run-on of the discussion-it had taken a while before any call of "Order" had been heeded and even longer before relative peace had been restored to the meeting room, and yet, absolutely no resolution had been reached on which place each team should stick to while they try to persuade Scotland not to detach themselves from the rest of the United Kingdom-David has to admit, he'd hoped that, after several meetings, today might have been one of the-exceedingly rare-afternoons on which he could leave a little earlier. Flo only started school last week, and David wants to be able to scoop her up when she gets home, press kisses to her chubby little cheeks.  
Suffice it to say that when Lynton requests "just a quick meeting" with him and George, it is not with the best of grace that he complies. It would have been with even less grace had he known what the topic of the meeting was going to be.

"We're not asking anyone to become best friends" says Lynton, reaching for a glass of whisky while David tries vainly to work out if he's misheard his advisor's previous words. "What we are asking for is just to be-less hostile during the campaign.  
David barely has time to blink before George, looking far more at ease with the situation than he should, jumps in. "If we look unprofessional, it just gives them the edge with the public."  
"I understand that" David manages, barely keeping the edge out of his voice. "What I don't understand is why it was so necessary to hear this information right now." _When a five-year-old could figure it out_, he adds silently.  
Lynton and George exchange glances, so George misses the glare that David's reserved solely for him. George might have _warned_ him what the topic of this meeting was going to be. He and Miliband aren't _schoolchildren_, after all.  
"Well, it's not just a matter of winning an election. Or the referendum, and that's going to be fucking harder than it should be." Lynton avoids David's eyes as he reaches again for the glass. David suppresses a groan at the danger sign-whatever comes out of Lynton's mouth next is not likely to be welcome.  
"With all the-_warnings_ from the poison dwarf" Lynton says diplomatically and David grits his teeth at the memory of him, Miliband and Nick all standing awkwardly like a bunch of schoolboys to receive a lecture on "civilized debate for the edification of the general public" (all three of them had nodded along and duly promised to mend their ways. This had been followed by David hissing at Miliband in the corridor "If you could keep your attacks less _personal_, none of this would have happened", resulting in Miliband's retort "Cameron, it's almost amuth-sing that _you_ accuse _me_ of personal attacks" at which Nick had stepped in between them, a smirk twitching at his mouth and reminded them that it was probably going to be an awkward moment if Bercow stepped out of his office now. David had glared at him but deep down, there was a stab of gratitude for Nick's words and he told himself it was simply because the argument would have served little purpose and not because he was several seconds away from complete humiliation as-as George loved to hear from Nick over and over in subsequent weeks-David had apparently resorted to being a child again and his tongue had been darting out of his mouth at Miliband before Nick helpfully rammed an elbow into his ribs.)  
George elbows him-David would love to elbow him back, but as the Prime Minister, should probably show a little more self-restraint and settles for giving his Chancellor the glare he deserves, the traitor. George, being George, completely ignores him.

"David." Lynton looks him straight in the eye. "That was a discussion in a meeting room about the referendum and it devolved into an argument about the potential for how one of you-and it had better fucking be you-will reduce spending cuts in the next Parliament. "

David tries to look untroubled. "You're really bringing up devolution?"

"Each of you turned up with half a dozen MPs, and they resorted to Bercow chairing the whole discussion simply to keep the peace."

George sniggers. David glares at him.

"Eventually, the meeting overran by fifteen minutes."

George sniggers harder.

"A member of the public would have mistaken that for a particularly rowdy Prime Minister's Questions-"

"I get the picture, Lynton."

Lynton sighs. "Well." The ice in his glass clinks as he takes yet another sip. David resists the urge to knock it out of his hand. "It will only be a show of solidarity, if that's all that can be managed. Just maybe-arriving at events together occasionally, looking a little less-antagonistic, generally, that sort of thing-"

David has to admit, that hardly sounds uncomfortable. Then again, with Nick, it isn't. Working in coalition is made far easier than it should be when you genuinely like the person you are working with. And Nick is easy to like-almost disconcertingly easy, for a politician.  
But David already knows Nick isn't going to be the problem and he sighs. "Party leaders including Miliband."  
George glances away as though waiting for a bomb to go off but David knows him too well and after a moment of waiting, hears him mutter "And there's that keen intellect that adds so much to your sense of diplomacy."  
David rolls his eyes, and watches George's mouth lift in a smirk.  
"Well, obviously" says Lynton warily, his eyes flickering to George's, a glance that tells David they discussed this before he arrived. He aims another glare at George.  
"Fine" he says, if only to relish the way George's eyes widen at his words. "That's fine with me."  
There's a moment of strained silence, during which Lynton's mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Davis watches him struggle for a moment, and then, glancing out the window at the dying sunlight, decides to take pity on them and himself.  
"Look" he says, standing upright and Lynton and George automatically follow. "Whatever you think about the situation, I do not hate Miliband. I am perfectly happy spending time with him." He turns for the door and aims the rest over his shoulder. "We're able to separate disagreements from dislike. Unlike you, apparently." With that, he gives them a nod and walks out the door, ignoring George's disbelieving snort and only briefly pausing at his Chancellor's shouted reply. "Tell him about the tongue incident."  
David is the Prime Minister and has many important things to do which is the only reason he grits his teeth and keeps walking, a little faster now.

  


* * *

  
  
"Daddy." Sam is easier to pick up than Daniel these days, and Ed manages it awkwardly, halfway down the basement steps. The boys are usually in bed by the time he gets home-it will be a couple of hours before Justine gets home, at least. Even now, they're both already in their pyjamas, Zia halfway through getting them upstairs to bed. Ed tries to remember when the last time was that he or Justine were there at bedtime.

But if sometimes clients and cases come before making sure the kids bags are ready and favourite nightlights have been left on-well. Times have changed. And Justine had always been clear that she wanted the children-particularly if they had any daughters- to know they didn't have to put being a homemaker before having a career.

In the event, they had two sons, who are both often a little too well aware that women don't have to put being homemakers before having careers.

Ed juggles Sam awkwardly back and forth and reaches to pat Daniel's head, but Daniel curls into Zia's leg, so Ed settles for touching his hair lightly.

"Zia did story" Sam tells him, rubbing his eyes, and, looking at Zia, she nods, confirming this.

"We're just getting ready for bedtime" she says and Sam's arms stretch out, his baby-voice babbling "Z-Zia-"

Ed tries not to wince as he hands his son back over.

He gives the boys a goodnight, with an awkward kiss to each head, even as Daniel turns his face away, mumbling something, a little scowl creasing his face as he clings to Zia. Ed tells himself he'll read them a story another night, when there's more time. When he doesn't have to work.  
A few minutes later, he's sitting in front of the news channel, biting into the tuna melt he's just put together, and he rolls his eyes as Cameron appears on the screen. Ed takes the opportunity to study his face, a part of him already impatient to open his own mouth, ready to spit out a retort.  
He watches as Bercow's head bobs back and forth-a replay of PMQs from a while back-and his eyes settle on Cameron's usual smirk as their eyes meet across the despatch box. But there's something else too-something almost teasing in the expression. He feels his own brow furrow at the look-it could almost be friendly, but at the same time, something about it reminds him of when he first walked into Tony Benn's office, shy and nervous and saw every colleague exchange glances the second they thought he wasn't looking, and he'd known what they thought of him before they said a single word. Young. Spoilt. Naive. Like a clever child who knows it's done something rather admirable and is a little too proud of it.  
Something about Cameron's expression makes Ed wonder just how many hours are left until the next time they can face each other across the Commons. _Five-storey house_ is still ringing in the back of his head and he bites his lip, furious at having to smother the impulse to laugh.  


* * *

  
David can no longer recite wedding vows from memory-a fact Sam never fails to remind him of-but he's fairly sure there's got to be a clause that states one's spouse should be sympathetic to the ordeal of having to survive an hour-long journey with the person currently trying to steal one's job.  
Instead, Samantha has chosen to completely disregard this clause by bursting into hysterical laughter.  
"It's not funny" David tells her, trying to peer sternly over his glasses and only succeeding in letting them slip down his nose, "I have to spend two bloody hours, there and back, in a car, with _Miliband._ There's a good chance one of us isn't going to make it out alive."  
Sam, taking a deep breath, manages to control herself long enough to say "Nick will be there. And George."  
David has to grudgingly agree. "That still doesn't make Miliband any easier to tolerate" he grumbles, knowing he sounds like a child and hating himself for it. "And it's not going to look good for either of us if we can't go through a few hours without chomping at each other's throats. I told you what Lynton said-I bet this is _his_ bloody idea-" David had been preparing for an early night when he got the call to say Craig thought it would give "the right impression" if he, Nick and Miliband travelled together, and if he'd been expecting sympathy from George, he could have thought again. (Unless sympathy was routinely expressed as raucous laughter.)  
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Don't let any reporters hear you mentioning _throats._ You'll make Nick jealous."  
David displays the expected dignity of any Prime Minister by aiming a pillow at his wife's shoulder.  
"Seriously" Sam manages, after several minutes of muffled and extremely dignified pillow fighting. "What happened to not hating Miliband?" She straightens her pillow, smoothing her hair with one hand. "I mean, you always tell anyone who asks that the two of you have nothing personal against each other."  
"It's _true."_ It's close enough to the truth that David doesn't feel guilty about saying it.  
Sam sighs, leaning over to pick up her novel. "Well, whenever I've seen him" she says, leafing through the pages, the conversation apparently at an end. "He's seemed pleasant enough.  
David snorts. If by "pleasant" Sam means "aggravating, smug, complete socialist twit" then she's nailed Ed Miliband right on the head. (And it certainly isn't what she was saying after the Syria vote.)

But, staring at his own book, he has to admit that _hatred_ isn't quite what he feels-not the right word, anyway. Something about the way Miliband's eyebrow arches whenever their gazes lock over the chamber, the way his jaw tenses whenever David's words strike home, just seems to spur David on harder, throwing more and more jibes across the room until he can goad Miliband into spitting out his own taunts. From the very first time Miliband had appeared across from him, thanking him in that painfully polite speech, the lisp that David was already familiar with prominent (_that_ is one thing David's never thrown at him, no matter how heated their exchanges have become-he's not _that_ cruel), something in every round of questions has David simultaneously wanting to burst out laughing and at the same moment, strongly consider just leaping across the House to throttle him.  
And yet on those occasions he's seen Miliband outside work-when they bump into each other at any dinners, when David carried round gifts for Ed's newborn son, or even beforehand, from the first days when he was an MP, when Miliband had just been one of the little coterie of advisers that clung to Brown's coattails-he's found himself noting little things- the way that Miliband never quite knows what to do with his hands, the way his mouth seems to run away with him, the lisp becoming more and more pronounced with each word-that jab at something else, some smothered impulse. There's something almost irritatingly awkward about the whole thing.  
David shakes his head. It's late and he's too tired to think about it, so he lets his mind wander to earlier, reading to Flo from The Big Book Of Fairies, Nancy occasionally taking a turn, while Elwen sent his Lego plane flying over and over into his sister's shoulder, until Nancy screamed that he'd tear her new pyjamas (they'd only bought them the month before, in Portugal.)

All he can do is hope he and Miliband can get through the few hours on Saturday without creating any headlines.  


* * *

  
"So, how long do you think you and Miliband will last before a headless corpse ends up involved?"  
Nick sniggers as David gives George what's supposed to be a glare but probably (annoyingly) comes out as more of a pained smirk.  
"It's _not funny"_ he manages, even as his traitorous mouth twitches.  
"Well, actually, it _is"_ George says, with the air of one commenting on the weather. "The question is, whose head will it be?"  
"No one's head is going to be rolling" David tries his best to sound stern as Nick and George exchange grins like a couple of kids. "We are perfectly capable of getting along for one afternoon."  
"Of course." Nick pats David's arm, which would have been a rather reassuring gesture, if it hadn't been followed by Nick clapping his shoulder, then turning to George and muttering "£50 says they last two hours before we have to break them up."  
George snorts. "£60 says they don't make the entire car journey."  
David grits his teeth as both Nick and George burst out laughing. He might be the Prime Minister but this is one of those moments when he would dearly love to kick the pair of them. Instead, catching sight of the chauffeur-driven car pulling up outside the back entrance of Downing Street, he's forced to content himself with hissing through clenched teeth "If the two of you could just _shut up-"_  
"Temper, Prime Minister-"  
David has to work hard to resist the urge to stamp on George's foot. "There is not going to be a fight" he mutters (again, through gritted teeth-speeches in front of cameras are very good practice for talking through gritted teeth.) "There is not going to be any awkwardness. There are not going to be any _problems."_  
George nods (and grins.) Nick pats his shoulder (and smirks.) And the car pulls up.

David tries for a relaxed smile as Miliband climbs out of the vehicle. Just an afternoon, he reminds himself. Just an afternoon. It's just Miliband. One afternoon. Just no glaring, no laughing, no-  
Miliband stumbles over his own feet. George snorts, which he quickly turns into a coughing fit as Nick steps forward to save the moment.  
"Good journey?" he asks, giving that typical Nick-smile, open, friendly, eyes wide. Maybe, just maybe, they can get through the day without a catastrophe.  
Miliband nods, his head bobbing in that awkward little movement, and gabbles something about it being fine, and David can hear the lisp in his voice, and George sniggers. David stamps on his foot and is reminded right there how easily this day could fall apart.  
There's a long, awkward silence which is punctuated by George sniggering again and David's voice is louder than he intended when he suggests that isn't it time George got into his own car, as he wouldn't want to keep his driver waiting, would he?  
George departs with a sardonic wave and a grin and David watches Miliband chew at his lip nervously and wonders for the umpteenth time, how this is the same man who hurls insults at him across the despatch box, week after week.  
"Shall we get in the car then?" is how Nick chooses to break the tension and David has never been more grateful for a Deputy Prime Minister than he is at this moment.  
Nick scrambles in first, followed by Miliband and then David. There's a brief moment in which David contemplates leaping out of the door but then the car's moving, pulling away from the curb and David has the horrible feeling that he's being driven to his own execution.  
It's not until they reach the motorway that either he or Miliband is required to speak-Nick does a good job of chatting away about mundane details, so that the only answers required are nods and vague "Mm" sounds of agreement.  
It's unfortunate that the first words David thinks of when he looks at Miliband are "I bet that phone lasts five minutes" as Miliband stares at it with his head tilted to the side like a scientist studying some rare specimen. David has some restraint, though, and manages instead to say simply "Problem?" He thinks he sees Nick tense out of the corner of his eye but when he glances at his Deputy Prime Minister, Nick is staring out of the window as if there is truly nothing more fascinating in the world than the bale of hay he is currently staring at.  
Miliband shakes his head and stares down at the Blackberry like a confused puppy. "I don't seem to be particularly thkilled with tho-social media" he forces out, in that nasally little voice David hears so often these days, it sometimes ends up in his nightmares. He watches Nick bite his lip and continue to stare studiously out of the window. David glares at the back of his head. If Nick starts laughing, they're done for. Being painfully sincere can be a weakness at times.  
Miliband's dark eyes flicker up from under those long eyelashes and for a moment, he looks directly into David's eyes. Something of David's amusement must show in his own face because Miliband's lips purse, the same way they do when David knows one of his insults has hit home, and as Miliband's eyes drop back to the phone, David catches the words "I suppose you'd just add an LOL to the end."  
Nick's shoulders jerk and David watches him shove a hand over his mouth as he shakes with silent laughter. David waits until Miliband has dropped his eyes back to the phone before he mutters "I suppose your predecessor would tell you to just throw it at somebody."  
Miliband's eyebrow arches and those dark eyes narrow. "I suppose the last time your predecessorth were in power was the Eighties."  
"If my predecessors were so terrible, why didn't your party sort it out in thirteen whole years?"  
"Apparently, you're still confused about the difference between questions and anthwers."  
"Apparently, you still struggle with the concept of forming a coherent question."  
"Apparently, you-"  
They're interrupted by a short burst of laughter. Their heads both turn at once to see Nick, one hand over his mouth, spluttering into his palm. Miliband's shoulder brushes David's as Nick waves a hand. "Sorry. Just wondering if I've got my wallet on me...."

David glowers at him while Miliband merely looks confused. Then again, that's a fairly usual expression for Miliband. David watches as he opens his mouth again, then closes it, clearly having lost his train of thought.  
"Now, _that-"_ David points at Miliband's mouth, his finger almost brushing Miliband's chin. "Is the usual sound of your arguments. They might as well be complete silence, for all the good they do-"  
"And _that-"_ Miliband jabs his finger right back and almost catches David's eye. "Is exactly the thort of weak-minded insults that people have come to expect from you in the place of an actual _argument."_  
David can feel himself falling into it, the rapid beat of his heart, the tight laughter in his chest as he watches Miliband's arguments falter in the air. The only thing missing is the tide of voices usually filling the House, battling on both sides to be heard. Here, there are no voices and no Bercow to tell them when everything's going too far-just a song playing on the radio, which David wonders if Nancy listens to. He can see every inch of Miliband's face, the bruised shadows under his eyes, the way his lips almost quiver whenever that lisping sound returns to his voice. It's disconcerting, to say the least.  
"If you want to go on about weak-minded, why don't you look back at the last few suggestions _you've_ made-"  
"Because looking at yours' would give me a better definition."  
David might be Prime Minister, but right at this moment, he finds himself seized with the sudden urge to grab Miliband by the collar and shake him.  
"If you really want a definition of weak-minded-" David's surprised to find himself grinning rather than scowling or speaking through gritted teeth. "Why don't you look in the mirror?" He half spits the words, that aching grin still in place.  
Miliband's lip curls. "I didn't know you'd resorted to playground insultth, Cameron."  
Their legs are pressed together now and he can almost feel Miliband's shoulders rising and falling with each gulp of air. He stares back, trying to look as if he couldn't care less what Miliband comes out with next, while wondering if he should sit on his own hands so he doesn't throttle him.  
"Well, it's not as if you couldn't learn from the typical occupants of playgrounds. I'd wager they can all make an attempt at eating sandwiches correctly."  
Not his best line, David realises the moment it's out of his mouth. Miliband's eyes flicker for a moment and something about the uncertainty there is so raw that David almost wants to look away. Nick glares at him over Miliband's shoulder and David wants to shake him-as if they haven't said worse things to each other plenty of times before.  
But Miliband rallies almost instantly, folding his hands together and fixing David with that raised eyebrow, the same way that always riles David, always makes him forget all of the years of learning, debating, campaigning and takes him right back to the schoolboy impulse to reach out and wipe that smug look off Miliband's stupid face.  
"That jutht tells me you're_ loth-sing_ the argument." Miliband settles back in his seat and David finds himself fighting back the truly mean urge to point out it's "losing" not "lo-thing." As it is, he manages to content himself with saying "Well, that's familiar territory for _you-"_  
There's a snort from the other side of the car and both David and Miliband turn to stare at Nick, who's wiped any hint of a smirk from his face and is now staring at them both, the picture of innocence.  
"What is it?" asks David, a jab of irritation at the argument being interrupted spiking up sharply in his chest.  
Nick stares at them both for a long moment, his face inscrutable, and then abruptly turns away. "Nothing, nothing" and he fixes his gaze on the passing scenery, as if nothing in the world has ever been so interesting as the cow currently chomping nonchalantly away in a field.  
"Good-" David turns back to Miliband, who's already got that eyebrow arched again, ready to continue.  
Nick's voice is soft, musing in the background. "Just thinking, I might owe George more than £60.."

* * *

It's a relief when all three of them can scramble out of the car and go their separate directions. David watches Miliband walk away, that awkward, bobbing little stance making David roll his eyes, even as Nick yanks out his wallet, muttering something about "Osborne _would_ have to be the Chancellor, wouldn't he?"  
David shakes his head. "You can say it" he tells his deputy, who's now smirking at him. "We didn't make the journey."  
"You were never going to" says Nick fairly, with a grin. "You and Miliband see everything the same way you see each Wednesday lunchtime, though."  
David stares at him. "And what do you mean by that?"  
Nick shrugs, that placating grin still hovering at his mouth. "Each Prime Minister's Questions, you can't stop throwing insults at each other. Like watching two kids in the playground."  
"It's not _personal."_ David will listen to a lot of insults but being told that he sees Miliband as his _schoolyard enemy_ is another matter. "I don't have anything _against_ him. We just-"  
He searches for a word. "Disagree" he finishes, rather pathetically, as he avoids Nick's grin. "It doesn't mean we _hate_ each other."  
"I didn't say you did." Nick puts on a smile as they catch sight of another MP heading towards them. "Just that you can't say it's not personal even if you don't hate him."  
David frowns and opens his mouth but Nick's already greeting the MP with a friendly smile, a hand on the arm and the moment to demand an explanation is forgotten.  


* * *

  
A couple of hours later, David's ready to leave. There's a limit to how much smiling politely even _he_ can take and while it would be all manner of irresponsible to neglect his duties, he's aware that he promised the kids-as Sam tried to pull Nancy off the couch, where she was duelling her brother with a homemade sword-he'd join them at Chequers later to judge Nancy and Elwen's respective jumps into the swimming pool and take his turn twirling Florence in the water, with her little armbands encircling her chubby arms, and the last thing he needs is Nancy deciding to recite the pub story again, especially if they choose to wander down there tomorrow for Sunday lunch. (One of the few downsides of choosing Chequers for the weekend over The Barn Cottage is that they're next to that bloody pub.) He's just glad that Sam's with them-they love Gita, but on the rare occasions she does need to pick them up from school or stay with them, David can't help but feel guilty.  
He waits until enough people have left so as not to appear rude and then Nick pats his arm and marches off to inform their driver. And it's then, with George descending hysterically into laughter once again, that David grits his teeth and sets off to find Miliband.  
Of course, it would be _him_ dispatched to find Miliband. David has to reflect, as he makes his way through the crowd, that considering the amount of staff that have been suggested to him over the years, there is currently no position entitled "Finder-Of-The-Aggravating-Leader-Of-The-Opposition" in existence yet.  
He doesn't want to end up texting Miliband but following Nick's well-intentioned but helpful advice ("He'll be here somewhere") and George's less well-intentioned, less helpful advice ("Follow the trail of smashed crockery"), he's forced to the conclusion that there's nothing else for it. He pulls out his phone and flips through the contacts until he reaches Miliband's number, and stares at it for another long, reluctant moment before he opens the message.  
He swallows and stares at the phone, feeling the same way he did as a teenager trying to pluck up the courage to dial Lydia's phone number to see if she wanted to stay at The Rectory for a few days. Which, considering who he's contacting, is more than a little disconcerting.  
Eventually, he settles on: _Need to find you. Leaving soon. Where are you?_  
He shoves the phone back in his pocket and waits. It's then that he catches the name "Miliband" somewhere in the conversation behind him and he snatches at the sound, turning round to focus on whoever's just spoken.  
He's not entirely sure which MP it is-the man's middle-aged, grey-haired and a Tory-but a handy part of being the Prime Minister is rarely having to introduce himself and after exchanging pleasantries for a few moments, David manages to chip in "Listen, have you seen our Leader of the Opposition anywhere?"

This prompts a snort of laughter and the MP says "Isn't there a trail of tea to follow?"  
David's about to ask if he's been speaking to George-Miliband might be annoying, but that tea-spilling incident was _nearly five years ago-_and then the MP says "He only did it again, didn't he?"  
David fights back a smirk and at the same time hopes that the tea-spilling wasn't in front of the man currently standing in front of him. Somehow, he can't imagine the MP providing any comfort.  
Then, he realises he's thinking about Miliband's _feelings_ and he tells himself it's just because he doesn't want it to affect the ride home.  
The MP's still laughing. "He went off that way" he tells David, when he can speak again from the hilarity of Miliband spilling a hot beverage. "Pity he can't clean up his arguments as easily. They're all about the same mess, after all-"  
David watches the man take another gulp of whisky, let a napkin dangle over his arm that he clearly doesn't need. It occurs to David that if the MP had just given the napkin to _Miliband_, then Miliband wouldn't have had to disappear and they could have been in the car by now.  
"That's a little unfair, don't you think?" he says, struggling to keep his tone light. "To take it as a reflection of his intellectual reasoning."  
The MP blinks. "Well, let's be frank-" he says, clearly struggling to work out why the Prime Minister is defending the Leader of the Opposition. David doesn't blame him. He's trying to work that out himself.  
"He's challenging you in a few months. Though, it's not as if his policies will be in any kind of _shape_ by then-"  
David's had enough. He's had a whole day of being goaded about his dealings with Miliband and he's spent most of it insisting that he has nothing personal against the man. Now, he finds himself struggling to get away from someone who seems to think that not only is David unable to handle a little competition but that he's completely willing to merrily jump on the bandwagon as soon as someone else starts insulting his rival. This, added to the fact that it's hot, he's tired, his phone's buzzing, and what's more, he still has absolutely no idea where Miliband is.  
"I don't think drinking tea correctly is an important part of being the Prime Minister" he says, his voice a little louder than usual. "Just because his arguments may be flawed doesn't mean they're a mess or that he lacks the intellect to volunteer some good ideas on occasion."  
There's a long silence and David takes in the wide-eyed stares of the three faces in front of him. Fleetingly, he wonders if it's really been that long since anyone disagreed with him and then he remembers that a) he's the Prime Minister, b) he's a Prime Minister who's just almost shouted at the members of his own party and c) that they're not staring at him but rather, at something behind him.  
David grits his teeth before he turns around, but he can already take a pretty shrewd guess who's standing there.  
Of course it's Miliband. It _would_ be Miliband. David stares at him, opens his mouth, then closes it again.  
Miliband is staring at him, his shirt clearly damp, his mouth open-God, why does he have to just _stand_ there, looking so _gormless?_-blinking at David, as if still trying to work out what he's just said.  
David closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before muttering an excuse to the MPs and then jerks his head at Miliband. "The driver's waiting" he says abruptly and heads off, Miliband following him, still dabbing at his shirt with a napkin, shooting confused looks at David from under his long lashes.  
David's aware that it hardly looks professional, expecting Miliband to tag along after him like a dog, so he slows his pace and glances up to see Miliband staring at him, head tilted to the side.  
"What?" he says, because Miliband is looking him in a way that could almost be described as _grateful._ His eyes are narrowed and he's staring at David as though he's a rather puzzling maths problem.

"Nothing" and Miliband's eyes dart to David's and then away again. "Jutht-um-nothing." He fidgets with the end of his tie and David sighs, eyes roaming again over the stains on Miliband's shirt.  
He grabs the napkin which Miliband is still ineffectually dabbing away with. "Here" he says and he scrubs at the material more vigorously (having children is astonishing training for cleaning up messes.)  
Miliband blinks at him again-why does he always have to look like a puppy that's been kicked the second anything goes wrong?-and David stuffs the napkin into his pocket, the shirt marginally improved.  
"Come on" he says and Miliband opens his mouth and then shuts it again. "I sent you a text" David tells him and he resists the urge to tug Miliband along by the sleeve.  
"Was there an LOL on the end?"  
David glares at him. "No" he says. "I'd given up on texting you, I was just going to find the group of people who looked as though they'd fallen asleep."  
Miliband glares back and mercifully, they've reached the car. David yanks the door open and Nick, who's already sitting inside, looks up immediately, letting his eyes roam nervously over David and Miliband.  
"Everything...OK?" he asks hesitantly and Miliband and David both say "Fine" at the same moment, prompting another glare between them.  
"Well-" David reaches for his seatbelt. "It would be easier if Miliband could _answer_ his phone."  
"Well, we all know _you're_ accuthtomed to mobile phones-"  
"Well, we all know _you're_ accustomed to needing help clearing up."  
Miliband flushes. Nick raises an eyebrow. "Well, I appreciate the honesty" he says, pulling his own seatbelt on. "It would have been really disappointing if you'd lied."

* * *

  
David hopes that Miliband will remain silent for the journey home-or at least, remember who just put himself out defending him _to his own party_-but of course, Miliband doesn't oblige.  
Or rather he does, _technically._ But he finds a way round it. Typical bloody Miliband.  
David doesn't pay any attention when the Blackberry comes out until his own buzzes and he finds himself looking at a message from Ed Miliband.  
**_You found me. Congratulations. Thank you for not including an LOL._**  
David narrows his eyes and taps a message back:  
_Not through choice. And LOL is not a sentiment you inspire in your own party, let alone in me._  
Nick's talking away next to Miliband. "It was quite enjoyable, overall. I mean, it wasn't a complete waste of an afternoon-"  
David' s phone buzzes again.  
**_Well, you have a history of not following through on decisions. And regarding lack of sentiment, you must speak from experience._**  
David rolls his eyes. Trust Miliband to be so pedantic even in text-message insults.  
_At least, I make decisions for my party._  
Nick's still chatting away next to the two of them. "Anyway, obviously you're not listening, so you completely missed William walking around with a flower pot on his head-"  
David nods vaguely, still focused on the message that's just come through.  
**_True. Of course, not the decisions you promise to make, but I suppose anything's progress._**  
_Well, one of us has to be. Some of us have progressed beyond requiring a bib._  
_**Some of us have progressed beyond hiring criminals**._  
David's fingers are now moving so fast it almost hurts. Nick is still musing away next to him: "And then I tied Bercow naked to the fountain and left him there-"  
_Some of us aren't so insecure we have to bring up every single insult of the past. Especially ones that aren't accurate._  
**_It's good for the country that you're becoming familiar with the concept of truth._**  
_It's not hard to be more familiar with it than you._  
"And then I stripped off my suit, put my boxers on my head, and I swear, if the two of you don't stop texting each other, I will throw both of your phones out of the window."

David looks up from his phone. "What?"  
Nick throws up his hands. David's phone buzzes again.  
**_Is this the same man who broke every promise he ever made about the NHS?_**  
_Is this the same man who chooses to avoid listening to every answer I give him each Wednesday?_  
There's a sudden movement, a seatbelt unbuckling, and the next thing David knows, his phone is being wrenched out of his hand. He and Miliband both turn to stare at Nick, who is now holding their phones, one in each hand. "Once more and you're both walking home."  
Miliband stares at him and mutters something about "both outrank you, anyway."  
"You don't, actually" says Nick serenely, handing their phones back. "Get your argument straight."  
A tense silence ensures, during which Nick stares out of the window and David glares at his knees. Miliband stares back at his phone.

David lets the silence drag out a few more moments, before he says "Well, Labour know all about weak arguments."  
"We learnt it from the Conservatives."  
There's a soft, thudding sound and they both turn to see Nick, who has apparently given up on settling conflicts through reasoned debate and has now taken the alternative approach of throwing his head back and forth against the passenger seat.  


* * *

  
The rest of the journey back to Downing Street is a fairly quiet one, with Nick leaving them with the remark "Just to ward off annoying press speculation, try to both survive the trip, would you?"  
As the car draws up outside the back entrance, David has time to reflect on the bitter irony that after dreading the idea of a whole day spent with Miliband, the parts that he'd enjoyed the most had been arguing with the man.  
David blinks. _Debating_, he tries to reassure himself. _Arguing_ is merely petty. Debating is...professional.  
He scrolls back through the messages as he climbs out of the car. Maybe a _shade_ less professional than was expected. OK-maybe a _hint_ of personal-perhaps a _touch_ of petty-  
"Wait."  
Turning around, David blinks at the sight of Miliband scrambling out of the car. He stares at him as the other man avoids his gaze, chewing a little at the corner of his lip. He's about to make a joke about Miliband not hanging the curtains quite yet, but the words die away in his mouth as he watches Miliband, realising he's never seen the other man look quite this uncomfortable. For a second, he has the mad thought that Miliband's followed him out of the car simply to continue the argument, that he'll keep them both pinned to the pavement debating the point forever, until someone wins, or they both drop dead of exhaustion-  
Miliband is still steadfastly avoiding his gaze. "I just-wanted to thank you." The words come out in a rush and David blinks. Miliband's still looking at him and the words tumble out. "I-didn't get a chance to and I just wanted to th-say-thank you for-you-" The lisp is becoming more pronounced with each word and David almost winces for him. Miliband, who seems to relish yelling his opinions at him from across the despatch box each week, now seems to be fumbling over the right way to get out a "Thank you." It would be ironic, if it weren't for the fact that neither of them can meet the other's eye.  
"Well-um-that's-that's-fine" David eventually (pathetically) manages. _(Fine?_ He couldn't come up with something better than _fine?)_ He scrabbles for something else to say. "I mean-I don't agree with them. You know. Just because they were-just because we have our-well, you know. I don't share their opinions" he finishes, feeling more awkward than ever. Miliband's shuffling from foot to foot now and the silence stretches out. Miliband's still chewing at his lip and David's seized with the sudden urge to tell him to stop.

"Well-um-" Miliband reaches out and gives David perhaps the most awkward pat on the arm he's ever received. He feels himself flush scarlet as Miliband yanks his hand back as if he's been burnt and scrambles back into the car. "Have a good night" Miliband manages, before he reaches out and pulls the door shut, leaving David to return his awkward wave as the car drives off. He stares after the car disappearing into the early Saturday evening, before slowly turning to the steps that lead down into Downing Street, to get ready and throw a few things into a bag to head up to Chequers.  
It's as he steps inside, with a smile at the security, that his phone buzzes. Climbing the stairs to the upstairs flat, he squints at the screen.  
**_Yes, I meant it, in case you were wondering._**  
Reading the message, David can't help but grin. He hesitates, then taps out a reply.  
_You're welcome. I shouldn't have told Nick. That was wrong of me._ He struggles before he makes himself type the word _Sorry_ but reminds himself Miliband, whatever his faults, was gracious enough to thank him. The least he can do is offer a genuine apology.  
The reply comes through a moment later and any feelings of regret disappear immediately.  
**_So hell just froze over. _**  
David shakes his head at the phone, fighting back laughter, as he types back a message.  
_Well, you would know all about apologies. Probably gets tiring having to make so many._  
Another reply, seconds later.  
**_We actually attempt to take our apologies seriously._**  
David grins.  
_It must be a daily necessity. It's a hazard of constantly getting things wrong._  
**_You would know. It must be familiar territory._**  
David laughs out loud as he takes off his jacket and types out another reply.  
_We've got you to guide us. After all, you took up permanent residence there some time ago._  
David sends the message and shakes his head again. He waits for the reply he knows is coming, his fingers already hovering to continue this new debate and to his surprise, when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he's smiling harder than he has all day.

* * *

_Playlist_

_Charmless Man-Blur-"Educated the expensive way/He knows his claret from his Beaujolais/I think he'd like to have been Ronnie Kray/But nature didn't make him that way...He talks at speed/He gets nosebleeds/He doesn't see/His days are tumbling down upon him/And yet he tries so hard to please/He's just so keen for you to listen/But no one's listening"_

_Company Calls-Death Cab for Cutie-"Set your sights, destroy this party-line/'Cause it's so tired.."_

_Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown #1-Los Campesinos!-"I restored your mother's faith in men whilst boring you to death/Left nothing more than the circle of stubble rash around your chest....A jealous ex silenced the room, he said that you were a whore/"Do you kiss your mummy's lips with that mouth?"-I had this playing while I was editing the scenes before they get in the car._

_Foundations-Kate Nash-"Thursday night/Everything's fine/Except you've got that look in your eyes/When I'm telling a story and you find it boring..Then I'll use that voice that you find annoying...Yes, it was childish/And you got aggressive/And I must admit that I was a bit scared/But it gives me thrills to wind you up/My fingertips are holding onto the cracks in our foundations/And I know that I should let go but I can't/And every time we fight/I know it's not right/Every time that you're upset and I smile/I know that I should let go but I can't"_

_I Didn't Mean It-The Belle Brigade-"So I accused you wrong/Now I'm the guilty one/Hey, give me my sentence/I'll pay my penance"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great documentary that covers David's years in power is The Cameron Years (2019), which can be found here (in two parts):https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Un0s9_SJEj4  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5X9idqtAS4  
For more on the families mentioned, these were the edited family portraits David and Ed did during the campaign:  
Ed's (him, Justine, and their two sons, Daniel and Sam): https://bbc.in/3aCsqc1  
https://bit.ly/3cHzd6c  
David's (him, Samantha, their three surviving children, Nancy, Elwen, and Florence, and their late son, Ivan, who died in 2009): https://bit.ly/2PU2O2s  
https://bit.ly/2Ix2jHq  
And some behind-the-scenes footage of their families-Ed and Justine's kids protesting at being filmed: https://bit.ly/2THcFtq  
https://bit.ly/3aFQ4UW  
https://bit.ly/38xNWxj  
David and Sam with their youngest daughter Florence:https://bit.ly/2Irfud0  
https://bit.ly/2Q0PGsy  
https://bit.ly/2IyNwvO  
There's less footage of the Cameron kids, due to their parents allowing less media access to them. One of the only times they appeared together is following David's resignation when they went to Buckingham Palace: https://bit.ly/2TQPSvh  
https://bit.ly/33c3Xbj  
https://bit.ly/3cJRkbx  
Ed spilling tea:  
https://goo.gl/images/hwMPBc  
Ed's claim Justine put her job first: https://bit.ly/2Q0NP74  
Zia is Ed's sons' nanny, mentioned by Ed here: https://bit.ly/3aHsUxt  
Her basement flat is in their home: https://bit.ly/3aE3Ibj  
The description of the Milibands' living arrangements according to some:https://bit.ly/37kx5hi  
https://bit.ly/37jX4Fo  
Ed's house: https://goo.gl/images/UJzSSq  
Ed worked for Benn as a teenager:https://dailym.ai/2SApvLf  
Chequers is the PM's country residence:https://goo.gl/images/3G5iD5  
https://goo.gl/images/M3KVY7  
David famously left Nancy at the pub by Chequers after Sunday lunch and she does tell the story:  
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18391663  
https://dailym.ai/2SBuStul  
The Barn Cottage is David & Sam's country home: https://bit.ly/2MTc0mr  
The Camerons' home in London, which they lived in before and after Downing Street: https://goo.gl/images/e3XdU1  
The Camerons used the back entrance to Downing Street-you can see them doing so here, on the day of David's resignation: https://bit.ly/2IsdEso  
https://bit.ly/39CWfZS  
Gita is the Cameron kids' nanny: https://dailym.ai/2QuIrIM  
The Camerons holidayed in Portugal:https://bit.ly/2xgC6KR  
Lydia was David's first girlfriend: https://bit.ly/2TRn6uL  
The Scottish referendum was for Scotland to decide if they wanted to remain part of the UK: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-29271765  
The Coulson references refer to this: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-28160626  
The LOL texts refer to this:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-18032027  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ho43L0sp28A  
Syria refers to one of the worst rifts between David and Ed, when Ed said he'd offer David support over a move following chemical attacks on the Syrian people by their leader and then withdrew his support. TW: The first two links contain detailed footage and descriptions of the attacks: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-23777201  
https://bbc.in/2Ub8N5w  
https://econ.st/39BppZk  
https://bit.ly/39WFjxN  
https://bit.ly/2w573BM  
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/syria-the-inside-story-anthony-seldon-on-ten-days-that-changed-the-world-5kd9wd8h9  
Samantha felt strongly about it as she'd visited Syrian refugees: https://bit.ly/39AmTTk  
David and Samantha took Sam baby gifts when he was born:https://bit.ly/2TwtF71


	2. Martys For Marxism, Apologies Accepted And Emojis In Abundance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which the Portcullis canteen is a high school cafeteria and there is an excess of emoji usage."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
The reference quotes at the start here refer to Ed losing his voice, some of the tensions between Ed and Douglas, the issues with Ed's conference speech, and Ivan, the Camerons' late son.  
TW: the death of a child is discussed in this chapter. No offence is intended, but events mentioned in this chapter were directly related.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, let me know what you like about it, or just chat, you can find me on my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) .  
If you want to read any of the articles linked and can't, send me a message or an ask on Tumblr and I'll find a way for you to. Leave a comment, kudos, etc.

_Kirsty: **Yours' is altogether a very blessed story, for the most part, a very, very happy, high-achieving, undramatic-**_

_David: **Yeah-**_

_Kirsty:-**and then in 2002, you and Sam had your first child Ivan. How long was it before you realised something was wrong with him?**_

_David:** It was a few days. I mean, only a few days-and we went home-erm-to Sam's parents' house, in, in Oxfordshire-and we just noticed he was having these sort of strange movements, very sudden, jerky movements, and-you know, you obviously worry about everything as a parent and you start asking questions and-initially we were told it was fine, and then we took him to hospital and-erm-they ran some tests and said that he had this very rare condition, which-um-you know, has very poor outcomes in terms of-it means you're very disabled and, and-er-can't really do a lot of things, but it's a combination of epilepsy and cerebral palsy-and so it's a sort of complete shock.**_

_Kirsty: **And so he needs twenty-four hour care? I-I don't know what the prognosis is but it-**_

_David: **Well, what-they've never really got to the bottom of exactly what was the cause, but they just can describe the symptoms and he does need twenty-four hour care. He's a wonderful boy-and he's got the most lovely sort of eyes, and he-he-he, um, definitely interacts with us, in the way he looks at you and the way he moves his head and things. But he-he often is in a lot of pain and he has a-it's a, you know, the thing that worries us is his quality of life and trying to make sure he has a good quality of life-um-but we're very positive, optimistic people, we're determined to-you know-give him all we can and make sure he's part of a happy family.**_

_Kirsty: **Was there-was there a moment when you realised you could do that? Obviously, when you're first told these things, and-it must be a very surreal experience.**_

_David: I**t is, because it-it hits you like a-um-like almost mourning-erm-the loss of something, because I think you're, you're mourning the gap between your expectation and, and what-what has happened, so it does take a-a lot of time to get over. But there was a sort of moment where-and I remember driving home from the John Radcliffe Hospital and just thinking, you know, "We're gonna get through this." And thinking, you know, "Well, if we can't do a good job and look after him, then we've failed." And I think, you know, we-we do our best-and, um-he's, he's a lovely boy, but he has a, he has a tough life.-**David Cameron speaking about his disabled son Ivan on Desert Island Discs in 2006_

* * *

_Miliband knows his own conference speech in Manchester is one of the challenges of his political career. Once again he decides to deliver it without notes, as Cameron had done in 2007. Miliband's personal ratings lag a long way behind Cameron's, at minus 55% to minus 14%, and he hopes the speech will show he is prime ministerial, a natural leader. But his hopes are dashed as he delivers a lacklustre performance and omits mention of the deficit, which becomes the dominant narrative about not only his speech but also the entire party conference, handing perfect ammunition to critics inside and outside the Labour Party. Cameron's team are thus in unusually buoyant mood as the week draws to an end and they prepare to travel to Birmingham.-Cameron At Ten: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_Ed, meanwhile, was torn. He was enjoying himself on the frontline, getting down and dirty, lobbing grenades at the Conservative government, but didn't feel as politically or as intellectually stretched as he would have liked to have been as (Harriet) Harman's aide. For a start, Ed was well aware of how junior his position was on the pecking order of aides, researchers and special advisers (or "spads.") These days, both Harman and Ed enjoy retelling the story of how, in his first week in the shadow chief secretary's office, Ed was sent off to look for her coat. It perhaps wasn't what the bright Oxford graduate, with a passion for political theory, had left the world of television for.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_The decision of Alexander to not just join David's campaign, but to chair it too, came as a blow to the younger Miliband. He was one of Ed's oldest political friends; the two of them had gone on joint holidays together. Since 2000, they had vacationed together in Scotland, France and the United States. In recent years, their partners-Justine and Douglas's wife, Jackie-had also become close. But from the moment Douglas went to work for David, he and his wife are said to have cut off ties with Ed and Justine. Ed's desire to be leader meant his personal relationships were taking a battering. One or two allies of Ed have yet to fully forgive Alexander for his alleged betrayal: **"Douglas used to slag off David to Ed. Justine was particularly pissed off when he went off to chair David's campaign."...**_

_Ed privately told friends that he believed Alexander had defected to David's camp for two main reasons: a combination of annoyance and envy that a younger man than himself was standing for leader (Alexander is talented and ambitious himself-and two years older than Ed) and a belief that a younger brother should not challenge an elder brother. Alexander, for his part, was said to have privately believed that Ed's decision to challenge David had its' roots in a long-established sibling rivalry and told a friend that while brotherly rivalry was fine, the Labour leadership should not be sacrificed at the altar of Ed's desire to beat his brother. The point is a highly powerful one. If it is true that Ed's challenge-with all the grief and ongoing fallout that it entailed-was the result more of sibling joshing or resentment than political vision then Labour will have paid a very high price for the strange dynamic between the Miliband brothers. Some David supporters suspect Ed's motives to be more personal than political. Ed and his followers maintain the challenge was purely because of an important difference in politics.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_A close friend from university admits: **"Not till the birth of Florence did it (the death of Ivan) remotely heal, not that it ever can, of course"..**.And the sadness evoked by memories of Ivan can still ambush the Prime Minister. He was interviewed by Rosa Monckton for a television documentary about bringing up a disabled child. The encounter had moved him to tears, prompting Monckton, the mother of a Down's Syndrome child, to reassure him immediately that his upset would be excised from the aired version of the interview._

_"Generally, he's very good at holding it together, but every now and then something would trigger things off" says a colleague. **"And even now, if he does a hospital visit with Sam, he might see something that triggers things off."** It must be a loss for which, for others, it is impossible to make fitting allowance.-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott & James Hanning_

_It is impossible to overstate the importance of Ivan to Cameron's life story. Before his arrival, Cameron had known little real suffering. Blessed with a loving family, a fine mind, an interesting job, good health, good looks and a beautiful and accomplished wife, hitherto he had enjoyed every advantage in life. He was thriving at Westminster, lived in a desirable north Kensington flat, and had a fabulous social network, including a tight-knit group of exceptionally close friends. He had no reason to doubt that the road ahead would be anything other than a continuation of the path he'd already travelled: a smooth and satisfying route to more happiness and success. Suddenly the young MP was the father of a child so profoundly disabled he would need 24-hour care for life. The ramifications-emotional, practical, professional, financial-were so wide-ranging and enormous that they were almost impossible to take in. In Cameron's own words, the shock hit him "like a freight train." His charmed life would never be the same again._

_Yet in their darkest hour, the Camerons proved remarkably resilient. While many marriages collapse under the strain of raising a disabled child, friends say they were determined not to let their new circumstances ruin their lives. "**They just decided they were going to have a very happy family life, come what may. I think they were just very, very good to each other in that period."..**.Cameron himself has recalled a sort of epiphany a few days after Ivan's diagnosis, when he realised he and Samantha were going to **"get through this": "If we can't do a good job and look after him, then we have failed"** he thought to himself._

_In the months and years that followed, he lived up to that private pledge.-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_The joy of Florence's birth turns his mind back to his grief at the loss of his six-year-old son, Ivan, in February 2009. Ivan was born in April 2002 with the very rare Ohtahara syndrome, which left him with both epilepsy and cerebral palsy. Ivan had a number of seizures over the years but his death came as a surprise and terrible shock to his parents. Gordon Brown cancelled PMQs that day out of respect. Cameron does not have the regard for Brown personally that he has for other PMs. But he did that day. Brown himself had lost a daughter, Jennifer, aged just ten days, in 2002: **"The death of a child is an unbearable sorrow that no parent should ever have to endure"** Brown said to a hushed chamber in the House Of Commons. Nothing in Cameron's life has affected him as deeply as the birth, life and death of his son Ivan. Birthdays and anniversaries are particularly painful. He and Samantha attend the church in Oxfordshire where Ivan is buried. He will never be the same man again. **"David was just another talented Etonian until Ivan"** says long-standing friend Andrew Feldman. **"What Ivan gave him was compassion and humanity."** Those closest to him agree that Ivan has softened him and given him a humility he might not otherwise have developed. Cameron's fondness and respect for the NHS is another impact: **"I am someone who has relied on the NHS...who knows what it's like to go to hospital night after night with a child in your arms...knowing that when you get there, you have people who will care for that child, and love that child like their own"** he says in his party conference speech four years later, visibly and unusally allowing emotion to break through in public. Few have so shaped his premiership as much as Ivan...To have lost a much-loved son and a powerful and adored father in little more than a year, and entering Downing Street at such a young age, would have been a daunting prospect for any prime minister. Cameron is the linchpin, the steadying presence, who holds his whole family together. These formative experiences draw him even closer to Samantha, to his brother Alex, to his mother Mary, and to his three surviving children, as well as to his close circle, above all Llewellyn, Fall, Hilton, Osborne and Coulson.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_The emotion in Cameron's voice is clear when he delivers the most heartfelt part of his speech, on the NHS:** "From Labour last week, we heard the same old rubbish about the Conservatives and the NHS. Spreading complete and utter lies...I am someone who has relied on the NHS-whose family knows more than most how important it is...who knows what it's like to go to hospital night after night with a child in your arms...knowing that when you get there, you have people who will care for that child and love that child like their own. How dare they suggest I would ever put that at risk for other people's children? How dare they frighten whose who are relying on the NHS right now!"**-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_While Ivan could not sit up and I never saw him eat other than through a tube in his stomach, he was a beautiful child with a serene presence, always watching his parents from his chair, or from the special mound they had made for him in the garden. A large picture of Ivan smiling hangs on the wall of Samantha and David's kitchen, and a smaller version of the same picture always sits on David's desk...David would readily admit this was the first time fate had delivered him any sort of blow. His had been an idyllic upbringing-a loving family, a brilliant education, always popular amongst his peers. By the time I first came across David at Oxford he was already marked out as someone to know. Samantha, who was younger and definitely **"cooler",** brought a lighter touch to the more serious and conservative (with a small "c") David. And then Ivan came, and rather than break them, he brought them closer together as they supported each other through the emotional and practical difficulties that having a disabled child inevitably brings. Samantha and David were immensely proud of Ivan and they never stopped worrying about his welfare. Much has been made of whether Ivan changed David, and how he affected David's perspective as a man and later as a politician. There is something in this, of course; we are all shaped by what happens to us. Ivan certainly brought to David a sense of humility and patience, and a consideration for the weak. The pride David and Samantha showed in Ivan, I think, also helped other parents of disabled children hold their heads high..._

_Around 7.30am on Wednesday 25 February 2009, my mobile rang. This was towards the latter part of our years in Opposition, and I was busy preparing the children for school before heading off to the office. I wedged the phone under my chin. It was Ed (Llewellyn). "**I've got awful news"** he said. **"So prepare yourself."**_

_**"What's happened now?"** I replied, not too concerned. Most days in politics tend to start with a drama._

_**"No, really"** he said. **"This is different."** And he was right.._

_On that Wednesday morning in February, I could barely take in the heartbreaking news of Ivan's sudden death. My phone started to ring. Another call from Ed. He had been speaking to Andy (Coulson) and it was their decided view that someone should go round to the Camerons'. The story was about to break any minute and they would need the support. I headed over to Notting Hill with a heavy heart, calling George on the way to break the sad news to him. I didn't want him to hear it on the radio._

_Nancy and Elwen were alone with their babysitter when I arrived. They were young and clearly confused about what was going on. Soon after, David and Samantha returned. Shattered, they collapsed into chairs in the sitting room. After tears, hugs, and a lot of tea, we drafted some words for the press and I set off back to the office. I found George, Michael Gove, and William Hague working on a statement in David's office. They were visibly upset but trying to be professional. Gordon Brown cancelled PMQs; he would pay tribute to Ivan instead, reflecting of course on his own terrible ordeal after the death of his baby daughter, Jennifer Jane, years before. It fell to William, as David's deputy, to respond. No one was more skilled for such a sad task than the great orator and scribe who is William. Gordon began movingly: **"The death of a child is an unbearable sorrow that no parents should ever have to endure." **Michael and George, seated on either side of William, looked close to tears._

_The funeral of a friend's child is not an event that I would wish on anyone , and sadly I have had to sit through two. There is someone inside us who never recovers from this inexplicable sadness-the loss of life, of hope, of so much grief for our friends. And this family tragedy was complicated by it being so much in the public eye. We were asked not to wear black to Ivan's funeral, which was held at the beautiful country church in Chadlington, near their home in Dean, which they will always keep, because Ivan is buried nearby. Samantha wore her **"best dress"-**polka-dot blue. The small congregation was made up of family, close friends and Ivan's carers and doctors. Most of us arrived in sad little groups, to support one another. Steve Hilton was next to me in the pew. Ivan was his godson and he had been asked to read the lesson. He seemed a bit confused at first, looking round at the church and then he saw it: Ivan's small coffin at the front. "**Oh my God"** he blubbed, the tears pouring down his face. I didn't know how he was going to get through the reading..._

_When David prepares to move the family out of No 10 and back to North Kensington, many years later, it is there, intact-Ivan's mound, like a lighthouse, guiding them safely home.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No.10, Kate Fall_

_The Camerons (had) (at that stage) three children. Their first child, Ivan, was born in 2002, profoundly disabled; he has cerebral palsy and severe epilepsy and needs round-the-clock care. He doesn't walk or talk and-tragically-rarely smiles...Ivan can never be left alone. Ever...The first time I visited their home in North Kensington (which, as anyone who knows London can tell you, actually means Ladbroke Grove, and is far from the trendy boho paradise painted by the press), I saw Ivan's influence everywhere: the specially installed lift, his toys, the medicine being prepared in the kitchen. The Cameron household is Ivan's own little church, and everything the family do at home revolves around him. It breaks your heart, but then you get the feeling that David and Samantha's hearts have been broken a thousand times over. The couple also ha(d) two other children, Nancy Gwendoline Beatrice (born 19 January 2004) and Arthur Elwen (born 14 February 2006)...He has been called Elwen almost from day one....Living with their son Ivan was never easy, not that you'd ever hear David or Samantha Cameron say so. Why would they? He was their son, their beautiful blue-eyed, oh-so-cherished son. Born in 2002, with cerebral palsy and one of the most severe forms of epilepsy, Ivan had needed round-the-clock care almost from the moment he was born. He was unable to walk or talk and-tragedy upon tragedies-rarely smiled. For several years, he didn't smile at all, but when his medication was altered in 2006, his moods altered too, fundamentally changing the mood in the Cameron household as a whole. ..Ivan's Ohtahara syndrome left him with severe problems with movement, sight, speech, hearing and breathing. The condition also causes seizures that progressively worsen as the sufferer ages. It was these sudden and seemingly random seizures that caused so much disruption in the Cameron household. One of the first things you notice about parents with profoundly disabled children is the way in which their disability is hardly ever mentioned. Their differences, their distinctions, and the joys and the difficulties that come with them, are treated as normal...And so it was with David and Samantha Cameron and their six-year-old son Ivan. In all the time we spent together for this book, whenever we met, and whenever Ivan was mentioned, David behaved like any other decent father-with frustration, with pride, and with love. An awful lot of love.-Cameron On Cameron: Conversations With Dylan Jones, Dylan Jones_

_It informed everything they did. When they ate. When they slept (or rather, when they didn't.) When they went out. Who they invited into their house, who they invited into their lives. How they treated their other two children, Nancy and Elwen. What they told their other children about Ivan. Where they went on holiday with the children (the south coast, northern France at a push.) How David and Samantha treated each other. But it was unbelievably hard work. Ivan needed over 20 different drugs daily, delivered, like his liquid food, through a gastrostomy tube that was inserted into a huge hole in his stomach. Whenever Cameron discussed Ivan, he almost always smiled, although only a fool would be unable to see the pain behind it. David Cameron has all the surface smarts you expect from any successful politician, but he can never disguise what he feels about Ivan. At least I've never seen him disguise it...And whenever we talked about Ivan, I found myself unable to think of David Cameron as anything else but a profoundly decent person whose base instincts about human nature were sound and proper. No, caring about your disabled son doesn't make you a good politician, and no it doesn't necessarily make you a good person either, but the way you talk about your disabled child certainly makes it easier to understand your motivations, your strengths, your weaknesses, and even perhaps the nuances of your compassion. And anyone who says that Cameron can't understand the problems of everyday people, who accuses him of social elitism, only needs to stop and think of the mental anguish, the emotional conflicts, and the constant nightmare of having a decidedly disabled child before they do so again. Some say that having Ivan took some of the gloss off Cameron, made him less cocky, more humble. But what it really did was give him something in his life that was more important than politics. It also gave him purpose and ambition...the priorities that marked him out as a family man, first and foremost, and a driven, political creature second.-Cameron On Cameron: Conversations With Dylan Jones, Dylan Jones_

_A visit from a journalist from the Sunday Times Magazine in 2007 coincided with Ivan's feeding time. Cameron's son was lying across his father's lap exposing a large hole in his stomach (he had had a gastrostomy) through which a tube was delivering drugs and liquid food. **"When children visit"** smiled Cameron, **"and won't eat their tea, I tell them I'm going to put one of these in their** tummy." The journalist-fairly hard-boiled-also witnessed Cameron picking up a lamb at a nearby farm for Ivan to touch. **"Can you feel the lambkin, Ivan?"**_

_**"Thankfully, we don't vote for politicians on the basis of how sweetly they minister to sick children, but when I have forgotten every word Cameron said to me,"** wrote the journalist, **"and long after the next election is won or lost, that tenderness will remain."**-Cameron On Cameron: Conversations With Dylan Jones, Dylan Jones_

_As we sat down, a box of tissues was placed on the table by our side. **"Severely delayed development"** he said. These words were carefully chosen, and there is a whole industry of literature and thought behind them. But they don't mean much to the uninitiated new parent. I asked whether this meant he would struggle at sport, or spend his life in a wheelchair. **"I'm afraid it's more likely to be the latter"** was the reply. It turned out that Ivan had "Ohtahara Syndrome", named after the Japanese physician who had first observed it. Like many of these diagnoses, it is more a description of a set of symptoms than an explanation of how it happened or what can be done about it. Put bluntly, the cause was unknown. The treatment options were uncertain. And there was no cure._

_Ohtahara Syndrome is incredibly rare, but our Ivan was a typical case. What its sufferers tend to have in common is severe and often uncontrollable epilepsy, and very poor outcomes in terms of development. Most are quadriplegic (unable to use their limbs) and suffer severe developmental delay (unable to speak, or communicate properly.) _

_The news hit us both very hard. Like all parents, we had worried about having a healthy baby. But, also like many others, it is something you don't think will actually happen to you. We were almost completely unprepared. And when it does happen, the effect is sudden, deep and lasting. It takes a long time to understand what has taken place. You enter a period of mourning, trying to come to terms with the difference between the child you expected and longed for, and the reality that you now face. But like so many things to do with the human spirit, there is a resilience that you didn't know you had. You feel such strong bonds of love, and such desire to protect this beautiful little creature, that something inside you helps you through.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_We went home to Dean, and the tears flowed. How would we manage? What would it be like? Most of all, how could we cope with seeing our precious child suffer so much?_

_Today, when I think of Ivan, I think of how we did cope. I think of the smiles and the holidays. Covering his legs with warm sand on the beach in Devon. Or trying to get him to sit on a pony. Or lying with him for hours on my lap or on my tummy. Having a bath with him and the other children, with Nancy and Elwen gently washing his hair. Swinging in a hammock and listening to him gurgle with pleasure. The happy memories are now at the front of my mind._

_But if I think for too long, I also remember the seizures. He could have twenty or thirty in a day, lasting for minutes or sometimes hours, his small frame racked with spasms and what looked like searing pain. By the end, his clothes would be drenched in sweat and his poor little body exhausted. And so often, there was nothing we could do. It was a torture that I can hardly bear to remember. For Samantha, the mother who bore him and who loved him so deeply, it was a torture that was tearing her apart. In those early days after Ivan's birth we talked and talked together. On one car journey back from the John Radcliffe to Dean I remember saying "**We are going to make it."** We had to. We hadn't wanted this. We weren't prepared for it. But we loved him, and we would find a way through. If we, with all our advantages, our security, our love for each other, couldn't manage, then who could? There would be many times in the subsequent months and years when we felt close to collapse, and would remind each other of this conversation.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_We tried different medications. Cocktails of anti-epileptic drugs, one added to another, with dosage levels changed to try to get control of the seizures. Too strong and he was crashed out, asleep for most of the day, with his chances of developing like other children set back even further. Too weak and the seizures would return, his little body convulsing and our hearts breaking all over again...We tried steroid injections, which have helped other children. They made his weight balloon and his blood pressure rise, and his kidneys came close to failing. We ended up in the renal ward of Great Ormond Street, where Sam and I took turns to sleep on the floor by his bed. Most of the other children on the ward had kidney problems, and when Ivan was asleep I would read them stories to pass the long hours they were stuck in bed waiting for the next operation or dialysis session...Above all, we saw the compassion that there is in the NHS. I lost count of the nurses who went above and beyond. Who would stop at nothing to try to make Ivan comfortable. They tried so hard to look after us, as well as him. A perfect example was when Ivan went for an operation to have a feeding tube-basically a small plastic plug-inserted into his stomach, because his weight loss was getting so severe, and delivering the medicines had become so painful and so difficult. The sight of your little boy about to go under the knife, even for a relatively straightforward operation like this, is hard to bear. I'll never forget the warm-hearted nurse, originally from Zambia, who held my hand as I watched Ivan go under the anaesthetic, tears streaming down my face as I wondered if he would ever wake up again. The tube feeding helped us control his weight and measure the drugs more precisely. Sam and I became expert with the tubes, valves, syringes and measurements..We would often exhaust the range of drugs we were allowed to administer at home, and have to drive at breakneck speed to hospital. Children's A&E at St Mary's became something of a second home: we would arrive and say a familiar **"Hello"** to the doctors and nurses. Then the desperate ritual of what became known as **"the protocols"-**the administration of a ranger of ever-stronger drugs to control the seizures-would begin. The last-but-one stage was a drug called Phenytoin, which was administered rectally. The chemical smelt so strong, you could hardly breathe. A glass test tube had to be used because it could melt plastic. What it did to our little boy I could hardly bear to think of, but it worked. From violent spasms he would go limp and floppy, and we would hold him in our arms, thankful that the ordeal was over..._

_We were always determined not to hide Ivan away. While he could never tell us his likes and dislikes, we sensed that he liked the stimulation of being out and about in the fresh air. So he would be fed on trains and planes, in pubs and restaurants, usually with a gaggle of other people's children watching. Occasionally one of them would ask if the tube was there because he had been naughty and not eaten his tea.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_My friends say that the experience of having Ivan and helping to care for him changed me a lot. I am sure they are right. A world in which things had always previously gone right for me suddenly gave me an immense shock and challenge. I tried to rise to it, but am very conscious of the ways in which I failed. I was always there for the emergencies, good at the technical things, never one to hold back when nappies needed changing or drugs delivered. And I loved Ivan with all my heart. I adored bathtime, bedtime, walks, wheeling him everywhere and nowhere. As he got older I would throw him over my shoulder and make sure he was part of everything we did together as a family. But I know that I lacked the real patience and selflessness that are required to be a truly great carer. And that is the truth about accidental carers: we are not perfect, and there is a lot of muddling through. No wonder so many marriages break down when challenges like this come along._

_Yet perhaps that was the greatest discovery of all. While I can think of ways in which I failed, I cannot think of a single way Samantha did. I still marvel when I think of how she managed and cared and loved and coped, not just with Ivan but with the rest of our growing family.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_But what is often said about grief I found to be true. While at first you think the gloom will never lift, there comes a time-and for me it was many months later-when some of the happy memories start to break through and you remember what you had, not only what you have lost. _

_And having Ivan taught us so much. About unconditional love. About our total devotion to each other. About the extraordinary compassion in our health service and the lengths that people go to in order to help. We learned about our strengths, but also our limitations. _

_Ivan lies buried opposite the church in Chadlington. We take the children there, and tell him how things are going and how much we still miss him. Sam found an inscription from Wordsworth for the headstone that sums up so much of what we feel: **"I loved the Boy with the utmost love of which I am capable, and he is taken from me-yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it."**_ _-For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

_The sort of slightly bizarre life that is Prime Minister's Questions-there was one time, and I was in a bad patch-which doesn't exactly distinguish my leadership-I was in a bad patch, and I got a cold on the Monday-I often sound like I've got a cold, but I really did have a cold-and then I said to Justine, who was my wife, **"I hope I'm not gonna lose my voice." "No, no"** she said. **"It'll be fine." ** By Tuesday afternoon, I was quite croaky-by Tuesday night, I could not be heard. And it was not a time when I wanted to say "**I can't do it, Harriet's gonna do it",** because they'd be saying **"He's having a nervous breakdown, you know, no wonder"**, etc., etc. And so, you know, Jill Cuthbertson, who used to work for me, and is a saintly person, basically, it ended up with her doing a sort of mercy dash around London to an NHS doctor at 1am to get me some steroids opera singers take to get your voice back. And by nine o'clock in the morning, I still didn't have my voice, and the people around me said **"Look, you're not gonna be able to do it"** and Harriet was on standby and then, by eleven o'clock, I sort of croaked back to life, and I was able to do it.-[Ed Miliband, speaking about events before this Prime Minister's Questions in 2018.](https://soundcloud.com/thepoliticalparty/show-57-ed-miliband-live)_

* * *

_Totally wrecked and polemic in the way he talks  
_ _Vocal sabbatical delayed, by churning out the same_  
_And you're trying too hard, with your lungs in tar_  
_And your kitchen full of pop stars!_  
_Why do you talk so loud, why do you talk so_  
_Why do you talk so loud_

_-Talk!, The 1975_

_"Heaven forbid! That would be the greatest misfortune of all! To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate!"-Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen_

_"Go away, Snow."_

_"You're not a monster" I say. His face is cold as a corpse in my hand. "I was wrong. All these years. You're a bully. And a snob. And a complete arsehole. But you're not one of them."_

_Baz tries to jerk his face away, but I hold it fast.-Carry On, Rainbow Rowell_

_A bonding opportunity for my only three friends was definitely a good idea, but this was somewhat counteracted by the fact that Rooney seemed to delight in irritating Pip, while Pip seemed to be irritated by her mere existence in all of our lives, and I had already discovered that I was not a fan of clubs and bars._

_**Felipa Quintana: **THE VIBES, GEORGIA. THE VIBES._

_**Georgia Warr:** what of them_

_**Felipa Quintana:** THEY ARE BAD_

_I should have seen it when we met_

_She's full of bad vibes_

_**Georgia Warr: **rooney's actually quite nice_

_are you just saying this because you saw her hooking up with someone?? no slut-shaming is allowed in this group chat_

_**Felipa Quintana: **OBVIOUSLY NOT. She can hook up with whoever she likes however much she wants, I have no problem with people who enjoy casual hooking up_

_I'm just getting a bad vibe_

_.......She made fun of my cacti._

_..._

_**Georgia Warr:** i'll come pick you both up from pip's room_

_i'm concerned about pip arriving by herself and making a scene as soon as she sees rooney_

_**Jason Farley-Shaw:** Oh that's good thinking. Smart._

_**Felipa Quintana:** FUCK you both-Loveless, Alice Oseman_

_""Maybe I'm bored." She was looking at her feet, pointing and flexing them together, like we used to do in gymnastics at the Y. "Maybe I'm tired."_

_"Of summer?"_

_"Of pretending not to be a bitch" she said. "You've obviously already decided I am. It's relaxing."_

_"You must think I'm pretty stupid" I said, and maybe I was, because at her admission I felt something adjacent to pride._

_She shrugged again, which I took as a yes."-Girls On Fire, Robin Wasserman_

_The scene was reduced to only a kiss, which was in absolutely no way, "only a kiss." It was my first ever kiss; it was monumental on multiple levels. What if I did it wrong? What if I was destined to be labeled a terrible kisser because it would be forever documented for any potential suitors to study and determine my worthiness as a possible kissing partner?_

_In the days leading up to the kiss, my co-star and I tried desperately to avoid each other in the small trailer that we used for our schooling, but avoidance proved to be difficult in a space that was only eight feet wide. Teenaged angst permeated the trailer, where we sat as far apart as possible and pretended it was unintentional that we kicked each other's chairs on the way to the bathroom.-"Life Imitates Art", You Look Like That Girl..., Lisa Jakub_

_I loved the Boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable, and he is taken from me-yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it.-William Wordsworth (inscribed on Ivan Cameron's gravestone)_

* * *

_"We will go to the country with a credible plan that builds on what we have achieved. Say what they will, we are now the only party holding firm to decent, Liberal values while anger and blame are on the rise, the only party refusing to trade in fear because we believe that the British people want desperately from their politics, what they want is hope! The only party who are as economically competent as we are socially fair-a party of the head and the heart, of compassion and resolve. The only party who says no matter who you are, no matter where you are from, we will do everything in our power to help you shine! Thank you!"_

_"Together we can reward hard work. Together we can ensure the next generation does better than the last. Together, we can make our NHS greater than it's ever been before. Together, we can make Britain prouder, stronger in the world. Together, we can restore faith in the future. On our own, we can't, but together we can. In the next eight months, the British people face one of the biggest choices in generations. A choice between carrying on as we are-on your own, for the privileged few. Or a different, better future for our country. We're ready. Labour's plan for Britain's future-let's make it happen together! Thank you very much."_

_"We've got the track record, the right team, to take this plan for our country and turn it into a plan for you. I think of the millions of people going out to work, wiping the ice off the windscreen on a winter's morning, raising their children as well as they can, working as hard as they can, doing it for a better future, to make a good life for them and their families. That is the British spirit-it's there in our ordinary days as well as in our finest hours. This is a great country and we can be greater, still. Because history's not written for us, but by us in the decisions that we make today-and that starts next May. So, Britain, what's it gonna be? I say, let's not go back to square one! Let us finish what we have begun. Let us build a Britain we are proud to call home, for you, for your family, for everyone! Thank you."_

* * *

Miriam never likes to stand on stage with him, but Nick doesn't mind. He finds her face easily in amongst the sea of applause and she beams at him, red lipstick making her teeth shine even whiter, eyes big and dark, searching out his.

He takes her hand when he walks down into the audience, as she comes to meet him, beaming out from in her blouse and long, yellow skirt that she'd worn despite James' murmurs of worry, and she smiles up at him, as they walk into the crowd. The cameras keep flashing around them, but Miriam just smiles at him, squeezes his hand tighter, rooting them together as they walk through the noise.

* * *

Ed comes to meet Justine at the edge of the stage, the way they agreed, taking her hand awkwardly and leading her into the centre with him. Justine's smile is slightly fixed, nervous, as she stands next to him, in the pink dress that she didn't choose herself, that looks slightly unnatural on her, like a child dressing up.

They need to wave, so he looks at her, knowing the cameras won't pick it up. "Do you want to wave for me? Wave-"

Her overlarge eyes find his, widening a little, with a laugh that's too nervous. "Wave?"

"Wave."

She blinks, still looking bewildered by the sheer noise of the clapping around them-Ed has the uncharitable thought that surely she must be used to it by now, and pushes it away.

"OK" she manages, still laughing nervously, her hand limp in his, before tightening again, as though realising how it might look.

They stand there for a moment, Ed's other arm automatically raised in a wave, and then he turns to her. "Give me a kiss" he mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing that this'll be what the cameras are waiting for, what they want as the shot for the next day, the personal angle for someone who wants to lead the country.

Justine leans up and pushes their mouths together, quickly, her grin not wavering the entire time. It's a quick, dry-lipped kiss, for which Ed feels an odd sense of relief. He's never liked those kisses that seem to go on for ages-his mind has always wandered, straying to all the other things he could be doing.

They stand there slightly awkwardly afterwards, him keeping her hand in his, not quite sure what else to do with it. They stand there, a little apart, her angled away from him, while they both look around, but none of his aides are signalling that they can leave the stage yet. Justine waves again awkwardly, her arm stiff like a marionette's.

When she looks back at him, too aware of the cameras flashing, of the applause still going on, he leans in slightly. "Shall we kiss?" he says to her, not knowing what else to do, but knowing if they just stand there, it'll look awkward, odd...

Her eyes widen slightly and for a moment he thinks she can't hear him. He opens his mouth to say it again, which is when she shakes her head, and he hears "No, no."

He bursts out laughing, because it's the only thing to do, arching away from her so that she's the one left facing the cameras for a moment, even as his cheeks burn with the rejection, leaving Justine to hitch her smile back into place, even wave a finger at the cameras, as though she's planned it all along, shaking her head over-dramatically like one of those dolls, even after she pulls slightly towards the edge of the stage, her hand still wrapped around his, and it looks so ridiculous that Ed feels anger tighten suddenly in his chest, because this is the one thing they didn't want, and so he leans in again.

"Just one" he says, in a tone that's meant to be pleading, but comes out sharper, and even though he keeps the smile in place, he knows she can feel the tension in his shoulders, the slight grit of his teeth.

Perhaps that's why she gives it to him, pushes her face into his as quickly as possible, forces their lips-not their mouths, the tips of their lips-against each other in what would be a peck if it had been a little more affectionate, and then yanks her head back, with a fixed grin at the cameras, as they pull apart as far as they can get without letting go of each other's hands.

"That's all" she says to the cameras, her fingers, a little too warm and damp, squeezing too tightly around his own, and he leaves it to her to say it, looking away from her, annoyance still pulling tight in his chest.

Her smile's faded by the time they're walking off the stage, through the crowd, and he already knows they won't talk about it, even as he'll laugh the next day when some jovial TV anchor asks him about it, even as he'll give the rehearsed answer _("Look, all I can say is, she's never complained") _even as they stand on the steps, waving once more, before they're allowed to turn and walk back down to leave the hall.

It isn't until they're outside, that he realises Marc's smile ahead of him is strained and that Rachel's is too bright, something nagging in the edges of them, as though he's forgotten something.

* * *

There's a moment when he wraps his arms around Samantha in the audience, drawing her into his chest, and holding her for a moment, out of sight of the cameras, wiping her eyes for her, kissing her cheek, murmuring to her. He'd gone over the lines with her a hundred times, and she'd written some of them, but he'd still found her eyes in the audience when they'd got to that point in the speech, holding her gaze, aching when he saw the dampness of her eyelashes.

"Are you OK?" he whispers into her ear, as she snuggles into his chest, the clapping around them echoing in their ears, outside the circle of their arms, and she just nods, tilting her chin up so that her blue eyes are fixed on his, sparkling and bright and he kisses her gently, not for the cameras, away from the audience.

When they walk up onto the stage hand in hand, the cameras seem far away, distant, compared to the warmth of her hand in his. She hugs him tight, and whispers something to him that he doesn't catch in amongst the roar of the crowd and the blast of the music, and then they wave, almost not noticing what they're doing, their eyes constantly straying to each other.

_I'm someone who has relied on the NHS and whose family knows more than most just how important it is. Who knows what it's like when you go to hospital night after night with a sick child in your arms, knowing that when you get there, there are people who will love that child and care for that child just as like it was their own._

Walking through the crowds, shaking hands with people, he keeps tight hold of her hand, every time he feels her tense slightly. He squeezes gently, and they don't even need to look at each other to keep in step.

_How dare they suggest I would ever put that at risk for other people's children? How dare they frighten those who rely on the National Health Service?_

They wave from the top of the steps, and Sam leans into his side. He has to resist the urge to pull her closer, kiss her hair, the way he did when she'd lean over Ivan's bedside, holding his hand in all the hospitals, her shoulders trembling but strong, her hand never letting go of his.

When they turn away from the conference hall, which feels like a different world, he puts a hand on her back, almost an arm around her, and feels her relax under his palm. They don't need to speak or even to look at each other. Just the touch of their bodies is enough as they walk side by side, the conference and the aides and the cameras blur around them, cocooned in the solid warmth of each other, and everything between them.

* * *

Despite everything the Tories would undoubtedly insist, Ed Miliband really can't object when people call him awkward. 

(Whether he does is another matter.)

  
So, while being awkward might not be something he's entirely ashamed of, it does present some moments he'd rather forget. Like managing to continually drop all of his books in the corridor back at school. (Multiple times, always in front of the same pretty girl from the year above, whose pitying expression is still seared into his brain all these years later.) Like constantly willing his lisp not to leap into the conversation every time it gets even the slightest bit heated and cursing himself the moment that, inevitably, an _s_ comes out as a _th._

Like managing to spill tea all down his shirt right in the middle of an argument with a Tory who seemed to be unable to grasp the idea that the country had moved on from the 1950s. (And he'd been _winning_ the argument, too.)  
Still, it hadn't been the best closing argument he'd ever come out with and it had led to him coming back, still dabbing at his shirt (he was starting to get the sense that his frequent visits annoyed the dry cleaners) to hear David Cameron, of all people, standing there, rebuking his own party member and mentioning Ed in terms that had sounded almost complimentary.  
If it wasn't for the fact he'd consumed nothing alcoholic all afternoon, Ed would have assumed it was some kind of bizarre, drink-induced hallucination. It was the only thing that could make sense, after all.  
As it was, he had almost been relieved when Cameron had responded to his jibes with the usual sarcasm-it made Ed feel as though they were back on even footing, helped him forget the decidedly strange memory of Cameron scrubbing at his shirt, with what could almost have been concern in his eyes. He'd found himself staring at the screen, the same furious impulse to respond that he's grown accustomed to over the last five years spiking in his chest with each message. But at the same time, he'd find himself grinning as he read whatever Cameron had typed back, enjoying the sensation of getting under his skin-even, perversely, the small jibes that Cameron sent back at him, that sometimes left him half-laughing, half-muttering his own reply out loud as he typed.  
But a few weeks later, Ed has to admit that he's not got any shortage of people willing to provide answers to the question which, after the debacle of the speech and the fact Cameron didn't even _bother to call him_ the morning of the referendum result, when they'd been supposed to be in this _bloody together_, Ed finds more annoying than ever.  
Ed is greeted by Sadiq this morning, who heads straight for his desk with a grin wide enough to touch both walls, shoves his iPad under Ed's nose and demands, with a smirk, "Since when's Cameron your knight in shining armour?"  
Ed groans at the sight of the quote from some tabloid reporter that Bob has managed to keep out of the press. People might say politics is showbusiness for ugly people but is the whole event really that interesting?  
Sadiq is still grinning. _"Prime Minister David Cameron showed his gallant side as he chivalrously handed his political rival, Ed Miliband, a little help-" he_ recites, as if Ed has lost the ability to read. He turns to face his boss, grinning. "So, you were never going to tell us?"  
_"God."_ Ed leans his head on his hands and inwardly curses his own motor skills. "It wasn't anything _huge"_ he tries to explain, knowing the fact he has his face in his hands suggests otherwise. "Cameron was just-just being _helpful_, he was juth-just, I'd have done the same for him-" He stutters to a halt, cursing his lisp for rearing its' head _exactly_ when he most needs to sound calm and in control and instead making him sound like a blushing schoolboy (which is downright frightening, considering the person they're discussing.)  
Sadiq laughs, clapping Ed on the shoulder. Ed manages to hide his wince. "Of course you would. You're too polite not to."  
Ed winces again. Given how long it had taken him to offer a simple "thank you", he's tempted to assume that "polite" isn't the first adjective Cameron associates with him.  
"How many other people have seen this?" he asks, raking his hand through his hair at the thought of this making the headlines, despite Bob and Tom's best efforts.  
Sadiq shrugs. "Oh. Not many. A few. Maybe. But really, no-one's talking about it, it's not a big issue-"  
The door opens and Yvette walks in without knocking, plants her hands on her hips and demands "OK, damsel in distress, why did you not tell us that Cameron saved your neck?"  
Ed turns to stare at Sadiq, who winces. "Sorry."

* * *

  
By midday, Ed has been confronted by virtually every MP he knows (and a fair few he doesn't) about the stupid quote (which, for something that's not going to appear in the press, certainly seems to have got the benefit of it), which has been met with a variety of reactions, including "When's the wedding?" from Balls, "You know he'll say he's got used to cleaning up your messes?" from Douglas, and "Just make sure this doesn't give him some sort of advantage" from Harriet. (And even _she'd_ been smirking the whole time.)  
"What do you mean?" he asks, rather grumpily by this time, given that he's just held an entire Shadow Cabinet meeting filled with people smirking, as though he and Cameron have just announced their _engagement,_ for goodness' sake.  
Harriet puts a hand on his arm and Ed can feel his lips going into the familiar pout. David used to complain about it when they were only a little older than his own boys, used to say it always made their parents take Ed's side-  
Ed drags his thoughts away from his brother because that won't lead anywhere good.  
"Just don't imagine that it was _entirely_ well-intentioned" Harriet says and Ed feels the pout clear to be replaced by a frown. Harriet raises an eyebrow. "There _is_ an election coming up" she reminds him. "And it only increases his public appeal if he's shown to treat his opposition respectfully."  
Ed frowns. "He could hardly have known that I'd-" He feels himself flushing before he reaches the end of the sentence. "You know-pour the-spill-um-"  
Harriet's hand is back on his arm. "I know" she says, her tone softening at the sight of her leader stumbling over his words, the same way she used to back when he first worked for her, when he'd approached her to nervously blurt out that he'd looked everywhere but that he just couldn't find her coat, the same way she used to back in his early days in charge of the party, when he'd walked out of his first Prime Minister's Questions, trembling, slightly shell-shocked. "It might just have been a nice gesture. But just remember, don't take it _too_ personally."  
Ed swallows, and for a moment fights with the urge to tell her that it wasn't just that-it was the way that Cameron had defended (and Ed nearly bursts out laughing even at the thought) Ed's party, defended _him._ But instead, he just nods, forces a smile and thanks her for the advice.  
Lunch is often just a half-eaten sandwich anyway, so Ed doesn't feel much worry at the idea of retreating to his office for the hour-he can get on with more paperwork and avoid any more awkward enquiries. He pushes the door closed behind him and feels his shoulders slump in relief. The sensation's familiar-at school, he'd feel the same sense of safety entering the library, the same sense of being utterly focused on work. Just work, pushing everything else out of his mind.  
He has time to reflect with a vague sense of bitterness as he sits down behind his desk, that he'd make a bet Cameron isn't getting this sort of reaction from _his_ party.  


* * *

  
"Would you like me to take your cape, Prime Minister?"  
David grits his teeth as George dissolves into another gale of laughter. (Nothing on earth is that amusing.)  
"Hilarious" he mutters, through a friendly smile at the Portcullis canteen worker. (Another skill acquired through constantly being in front of cameras.) "I was offering some _help-"_  
"Some _hands-on_ help."  
David glares at Michael over his shoulder, while Nick bites back a smirk, as he gives a polite thanks to the canteen lady who looks thoroughly amused by the whole conversation.  
"For the last time-" David glares at his plate as if it too is making remarks about his and Miliband's run-in on Saturday. "I was _helping him out._ I was _being polite-"_  
"And having a text message argument the whole way home."  
David turns to glare at Nick who lowers his eyes, biting his lip in an attempt to look contrite. "Sorry."  
George's eyebrows travel so high they almost disappear (which with George's hairline, is some feat.) "You've been _texting_ Miliband?"  
David turns to stare at him. "You know it's not unheard of for the Prime Minister to be friendly to the opposition?"  
George almost chokes. "Oh, so now you're _friendly."_  
David grits his teeth. "This is childish. I was being polite, Miliband thanked me-"  
Nick's jaw drops. "He thanked you?" At the stares from the other three, he shrugs. "I missed that bit."  
David sighs. "Of course he thanked me." He takes a seat at a table, while George, smirking, drags out a chair on the other side. "Just because Miliband's the opposition doesn't mean he doesn't have manners."  
Michael and George exchange grins. "So, Prime Minister" George takes a swig of water. "Where's the sword? Or did you use it to slay some dragon that Miliband had scalded with his tea?"  
David stares at him. "You do know we are not in a school cafeteria. People expect us to act with some dignity."  
"Is that why Miliband never comes in?"  
David rolls his eyes. "You're starting to sound like one of those TV shows we can't drag Nancy away from. Next, you'll be, I don't know, gossiping about One Direction or-using emojiis or something."  
"Does Miliband use emojiis in his text messages, then?"  
David resists the impulse to throw his napkin at George but it's a close thing. As it is, George is already pretending to cower in his seat. "Don't hit me, Bullingdon headlines abound-"  
Michael promptly dissolves into laughter as well. George nearly capsizes in his chair and David has never wished more for a photographer to be spying on them.  
Even Nick's biting back a grin. "I didn't know he'd thanked you" he remarks, taking another mouthful of his sandwich. "Was that after I'd left?"  
David seizes on the change of subject gratefully. He rarely eats in the canteen, thanks to his workload, and doesn't appreciate one of the few times he does spend there being filled with jibes about him and _Miliband_, of all people. He nods and takes a bite of his own sandwich, musing reluctantly that on this issue at least, he and Miliband might be in agreement. He wonders if Miliband's getting a similar ribbing from his own colleagues-David bloody _hopes_ so, since he's the one who got them both into this whole stupid situation.  
"Prime Minister?" David turns around to find himself face-to-face with Andy Burnham, who appears to be fighting back a grin. "Or do you go by Sir David of Cameron now-"  
"Hilarious" David mutters as even Nick bursts out laughing this time. "Tell your leader that his thanks is much appreciated."  
Andy manages to hold back his laughter long enough to speak. "No, no, he-" He holds up his hand. "In all honesty, Ed's got nothing to do with it. He's been taking it in the neck as well-"  
"Where else would he take it?"  
Andy looks like he's stifling a smirk, as George almost jumps out of his seat. "David Cameron, did you just _kick_ me? Rather _un-_prime-ministerial-"  
"Oh, shut up." David turns back to Andy. "It's really been turned into such a big deal?" He wonders briefly if the House of Commons has turned into a high school cafeteria without him noticing. People will be tweeting about it next.  
Andy shrugs. "Well, you have to admit, it's not something you see often-" He breaks into a wave of sniggering. "The Prime Minister wiping down the Leader of the Opposition-"  
George snorts again and David rolls his eyes. "Go away" he mutters, knowing he sounds childish and at this moment, not caring.  
"No, really-" Andy holds out a conciliatory hand, all traces of laughter gone though his eyes are clearly twinkling. "I've wanted to say-it was commendable, what you did."  
David blinks. "To wipe a bit of tea off his shirt?" His foot moves under the table and George jumps again, with a muffled "Ow!"  
"No." Andy's shuffling a little now and David finds himself staring as the man swallows nervously. "Just that it's good of you to defend him. Politically, I mean. Especially to your own party-I mean-" Andy's floundering for words. "I know you and Ed have your differences, but-well, I suppose I'm trying to say it's appreciated. Not just by Ed." He raises his hand, as if about to touch David's shoulder but thinks better of it, settling for awkwardly grasping David's hand and shaking it, once.  
David swallows. "Well-" He feels he should offer something in response to this unusually sincere thanks but all he can come out with is "It's fine." Andy smiles, but David's already pressing on. "I mean, what he was saying-it was in jest-but all the same-to act as if-like you said, we have disagreements but it's not as if I don't respect him-"  
Andy smiles again, in the face of what is veering dangerously close to _babbling._"He appreciates the gesture. Both of them-though he's taken a fair amount of ribbing for the second one."  
David blinks. "What, because I dabbed at his shirt-"  
"More for why it was necessary, I think." Andy smiles, even as Nick ducks his head, hiding a smirk. "No wonder he's avoiding the canteen, today. Then again, it's not as though that's unusual, according to Marc and Stewart-"  
"What, he usually sends one of his aides down?" David takes another bite of his sandwich. "The man for the working people dispatching the working people-"  
Andy's already shaking his head. "If only" he laughs, taking a step back. "No, usually, one of them ends up having to cram a sandwich into his hand and even then, he usually throws half of it away. That's if they can get him to look up long enough to eat. Couldn't keep me away from it." He's half-turning away when David grabs at his sleeve.  
"Hold on" he says, ignoring George's splutter of laughter at Michael's mutter. ("Wants to fight all the dragons now.") He stares up at Andy. "The man doesn't _eat?"_  
Andy frowns. "Well, I wouldn't say that" he says, gently disengaging his sleeve. "Just that-well, I suppose that some days he can get too wrapped up in work-"  
David remembers suddenly, one of the first times he saw Miliband as an MP. He'd still been talking over with Sam whether he wanted to run for leader, and he'd noticed the big dark eyes at one of the tables across the room, under thick dark hair, hovering on David's face, George elbowing him gently. _Mili Minor. David's little brother._

Typical Miliband stubbornness, refusing food with that pouting expression, the one that says _Don't you know I'm too busy working for the greater good?_, the one that always leaves David smarting across the despatch box.

"Maybe he should probably eat a little more but, well-" Andy laughs suddenly. _"You_, of all people, know what Ed's like to argue with."  
David rolls his eyes as he gets up. Honestly. Typical bloody Miliband. Probably imagining the whole thing makes him some kind of martyr for Marxism.  
Nick's staring up at him now. "David-" he says, and it's then that Michael mutters "His damsel's in distress" and David's finally had enough.  
"First" he says, laying his wallet on the table. "He is not _my_ anything and I think he'd highly resent the implication that he was. Second, this is not about me rescuing Milband or defending him or_-oh, would you stop laughing"_ he hisses, at George's snort of mirth. "It's about a man not _eating_, for heaven's sake-"  
"Yes, that's my first thought whenever I see Miliband" George comments, reaching for his glass. "By God, someone feed that man. Before he tries to feed himself."  
Michael snorts and Nick rolls his eyes. "Both of you-"  
David has had enough. "Fine" he says, straightening up. "If the two of you have nothing better to do than sit there, sniggering like schoolchildren, I'll see you tomorrow. You can enjoy the rest of your lunch." Being a politician gives one a knack for dramatically ending speeches and David turns and heads for the canteen workers, hoping his impromptu orating has left George and Michael suitably shamefaced.  
A second later, he spins round on his heel and heads back for the table to snatch up his wallet. "Could happen to anyone" he barks and strides away, trying his best to ignore the muffled bursts of laughter coming from behind him.  


* * *

  
He knocks on the door and waits, wondering if he'll have to go to Norman Shaw South, reflecting somewhat wryly that he's one of the few people in the country who can just walk up to Miliband's door. Then again, he wonders if it's exactly a popular invitation.  
There's the muffled sound of a greeting on the other side of the door and David takes it as an invitation. He's doing Miliband a _favour_, after all.  
He pushes the door open and his eyes fall on Miliband, head propped on one hand, a pen lid sticking out of his mouth and a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose. He pushes them up absent-mindedly with one finger and then glances up at David. His brows furrow.  
"Cameron?" He pushes those glasses up his nose again-he used to wear them all the time, but ever since he became leader, they've been a less common sight. He wears glasses himself too, of course, for reading, a pair which Nancy charmingly refers to as his "old-man glasses", but somehow Miliband's have the opposite effect. They make him look younger, almost like a geeky schoolboy. Something about the sight is rather oddly endearing.  
David realises he's been staring at Miliband with his mouth hanging open stupidly for the last few moments, so he snaps it shut and holds out the sandwich. "I know you pride yourself on being able to relate to the poor, Miliband, but I didn't know you'd gone as far as eating the same amount."  
Miliband's eyebrow arches. "So you admit your government's leading to a huge percentage of our population th-subsisting on two meals a day?"  
David nearly throws the sandwich across the desk. "You do know I just came up here to give you a sandwich? I didn't _have_ to waste my lunch hour-"  
He breaks off at the sight of the smirk on Miliband's face and rolls his eyes. "Very funny" he mutters, throwing the sandwich down on the desk and barely resisting the urge to fold his arms, slump down and sulk. Of course, it would be _Miliband_ to make him feel like a sulky child.  
Miliband pushes the stack of folders aside, his eyes lingering on the sandwich. "How did you know I didn't eat lunch?" he says, his voice lower now.  
"Burnham."  
"Andy?" Miliband's eyes widen and David feels that prickle of irritation rising under his skin-for goodness' sake, why does Miliband have to look so _shocked?_ Is it really that much of a novelty to have two people care about his well being?  
Something about the look on Miliband's face-trapped, eyes darting back and forth-reminds him of when he first won the Leadership, how the first few times they'd stood across the chamber, Miliband had stuttered over some of his words, eyes skittering back and forth, each question edged with that _politeness_-everything about it had screamed _helpless, easy kill._ Somehow, David had found himself glaring at Miliband, with that lisp and those panda-shadows, staring like a rabbit waiting for a car to hit him. He'd found himself throwing every argument he could think of across the room, taking care to lace them with subtle digs where he knew it would hurt, because Miliband was _there_ now, he'd crawled and scrambled his way to the top of the Labour Party and _come on_, if you think you deserve it, think you can handle all of this, then bloody _prove_ it, prove you've got something in there _worth_ saying-  
David blinks as he becomes aware that Miliband is staring at him. And that he's staring at Miliband. He swallows and straightens up. (He's the one doing the favour, after all.)  
"Yes, _Andy."_ He reaches out and pushes the sandwich across the desk. "And he said it wasn't the only time."  
Miliband picks the sandwich up, examining it curiously. "Not the only time what?"  
"The only time you don't eat." David sits down without thinking, dragging the chair closer to Miliband's desk. "He said sometimes you don't eat lunch at all."  
Miliband arches an eyebrow. "Is thith concern from the Prime Minithter?"  
David leans back in his chair. "Well, you know what Labourites are like. They'll take any excuse. Next thing you know, you'll lose the election and you'll be bleating about how it's because you lost out on sustenance for the good of the country."  
Miliband laughs and something about the sheer openness of the expression makes David's own lips twitch. Something tugs at his memory-sitting at that service for the Irish minister with Miliband and Nick, Miliband occasionally muttering some barb-edged comment that would send Nick guffawing and, after they overheard one MP expounding at length on the steps he was taking to reduce housing shortages in his constituency, Miliband had leant past Nick and muttered, just in David's ear "Selling that thuit of his could probably buy a few properties. Then again, with the amount of bagels he carried away at the buffet, he'll probably soon have one to wrap around a few properties", David had found himself laughing before he knew it and his hand had fallen on Miliband's shoulder, the pair of them sniggering together like two kids.  
Miliband picks at the wrapping now, his eyes narrowed. "I'm swamped with work, Cameron" he says and David fights the urge to tell Miliband that being an atheist, there's no need for the man to martyr himself.  
"It's a sandwich, Miliband" he says instead. "It's not going to take an eon to eat."  
Miliband sighs and then glances up at him." Cameron, I know subtlety isn't your strong point, but is there a _reason_ you're staring at me?"  
"Oh, no reason whatsoever. Just amazed that someone so impassioned about the amount of people using food banks is so happy to waste his own meals."  
Miliband's mouth twitches. "I'm astonished, Cameron. That's more of a comprehenthive answer you've provided on food banks than at the last six Prime Minister's Questions."  
David leans forward. "I'm amazed you know the word comprehensive when you're apparently not familiar with the term gratitude."  
Miliband leans back in his own chair, straightening his glasses. "And the Prime Minithter's theemingly never-ending ability to avoid the questions-"  
_"You're_ avoiding the question." Miliband meets David's eyes then, adjusting his glasses more than is strictly necessary. "What question was that?"  
"Why do you skip eating anything?"  
Miliband's eyes dart to David's and then away. "Maybe you're not familiar with the conthept of work, Cameron, but I'm actually rather busy."  
"Too busy to _eat?"_  
"Not quite." Miliband is busying himself with a pen now, removing and replacing the lid over and over. "I eat perfectly well." A flicker of a smirk crosses his lips as he glances up at David.

David sighs, stands up and, grabbing Miliband's wrist, places his hand on the sandwich. There's a smudge of ink on the top of his thumb.  
"I haven't poisoned it, you know."  
Miliband swallows. "Is that an admission about your party's general techniques, Cameron?"  
"Now, Miliband, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to admit that?"  
Miliband widens his eyes. "Would you like an honest anthwer, Prime Minister?"  
David lifts Miliband's wrist now. "I have children, Miliband. I've dealt with long lunches and reluctant eaters before. And they always end up eating."  
Miliband's smirking. "Evidently, they're already aware of their father'th tendency to be as dogmatic as John Major. And right about as often."  
"Thanks for the compliment. Though undoubtedly it wasn't intended as one." Miliband's unwrapping the sandwich now and David realises he's still holding onto his sleeve. He releases him hurriedly and sinks back into the chair as Miliband raises the sandwich to his mouth.  
He sits for a moment, watching Miliband take an awkward bite, surprised at the relief he feels at the sight. Miliband swallows and then, looking up, catches David's eyes on him. "Contrary to what the newspapers say, there's really nothing fathcinating about me eating a th-sandwich."  
David bites the inside of his cheek. "Oh, I agree. I specifically made sure to select one that didn't include any bacon, by the way."  
"I'm surprised you didn't bring me a knife, fork and napkin." Miliband's words are rather indistinct but David catches them perfectly. Miliband swallows and meets David's eyes with a grin. "Or are they just for the upper classes?"  
"Class, Miliband, that's the operative word. As in, show some class with your insults."  
Miliband shakes his head. "Arrogance, Cameron. As in, typical Tory _arroganthe."_  
"Typical Tory arrogance just brought you lunch. And I see you're still missing the term _gratitude."_  
Miliband swallows the last bite, blinking behind his glasses. "Thank you" he says and he lets his gaze meet David's head-on. "Honethtly. Thank you."  
David slides his hands together, suddenly longing to be trading insults again. He hasn't expected that level of sincerity-hasn't really expected more than a brief "thanks".  
"You're welcome" he manages, and stands up, trying desperately to think of a task that requires his urgent attention. "I should...probably-"  
"Oh. Yeah, yeah, of course." Miliband pushes his glasses further up his nose, already lowering his gaze to his work. David turns to go but Miliband's voice pulls him back. "Um-I meant it, you know. Thank you. For the-" He points at the sandwich wrapper. "And, um-" He slides off his glasses and begins scrubbing them with a sleeve, ostentatiously. "Thank you. For th-Saturday. For-um-"  
"No problem." David feels himself shifting from foot to foot and immediately rebukes himself. He shouldn't be feeling more like a nervous schoolboy than the leader of a country.  
_Oh, what the hell._ "The thing is" he blurts out, wishing he could have given this line to Ameet or Clare. "The thing is, they-er. They shouldn't have said that. About you. About your-I mean, they didn't know what they were talking about. You're-well, they had it wrong, that's all."  
His voice trails off and he coughs, as Miliband stares up at him, his glasses somehow having slipped lower, and now dangling from one ear. David clears his throat and reaches out. "Here, let me-"  
Miliband's hand closes over the frame at exactly the same moment as David's. Miliband flushes, letting his hand fall as David awkwardly straightens them, adjusting the frames on his ears.  
"There" and he doesn't have a clue _why_, but his hand lands on Miliband's shoulder, giving it an awkward pat. "I just, well-I've got work-" he manages, before heading for the door wondering if it was possible for him to sound any more like an idiot if he'd actively attempted to do so.  
"Oh. Oh yes, of-of course-" David raises a hand awkwardly at the door and Miliband stares at him. "Thank you" he says, for the third time. "Thanks, Cameron."  
David nods. "Just-eat something at lunch times, OK? Knowing you, you'll use it as an excuse to be terrible in the polls."  
A ghost of a grin flickers across Miliband's face. "You won't have that problem. Everyone already knowth you'll be terrible in the polls."  
David shakes his head, telling himself very firmly that he's not grinning, even as he lets the door fall closed, Miliband's laughter still echoing from the other side.  


* * *

  
It isn't until the lunch hour is almost over that Douglas walks in and, blinking delightedly, says "You've eaten something!"  
"Um-yeah."  
"I didn't even know you'd gone down" Douglas remarks, throwing himself into the chair. "Did you just sneak off at the start of lunch or something?"  
Ed keeps his eyes on the desk. "Thomeone-brought me thomething. A sandwich."  
Douglas' face breaks into a grin. "It wasn't bacon, was it?"  
Ed glares at him. "You do know I could fire you?"  
Douglas bites back his grin." Sorry" he says, though the gleam of his eyes betrays his amusement. "Who was it, anyway?"  
Ed reaches up to adjust his glasses and then, remembering who last did that for him, pulls his hands back as if the frames might burn him. "Um-" He feels the heat rise in his face, keeps his head bent, making sure his eyes are on his work, before he mutters "Cameron."  
Douglas' jaw drops. He stares as if Ed has just told him a unicorn galloped in to drop off his lunch. On consideration, Ed might have said that was more likely.  
He keeps his eyes on his work. It's not _that_ unusual, he tells himself. All Cameron's done is bring him a _sandwich_, for goodness' sake. There's nothing strange about that, there's nothing...  
(And he straightened his glasses. Not that there's anything strange about that, either.)  
Ed glances up to see Douglas staring at him. "What?" he manages, not trusting himself to attempt any words with an _s_ right now.  
Douglas shakes his head. "Cameron bought you a sandwich?" he repeats, squinting at Ed as though he's some foreign species. "I-are you sure you haven't been working too hard? It couldn't have been some weird-stress-induced hallucination or something?"  
Ed stares at him. "Why exactly would I hallucinate David Cameron bringing me a thandwich-sandwich?" he corrects himself, wincing. Then again, it's such a strange image that it almost completely takes his mind off his lisp. If he was going to have any sort of hallucination, it would probably be something like his father returning to tell him how proud he was. Or David picking up the phone and suggesting they go for Sunday dinner at their mum's like old times.  
Douglas shrugs. "Don't know. You hear weirder. I mean, you know what Gordon was like when he was under stress-"  
"Yes, I know, I wath there, and no, I don't think he ever hallucinated a Conservative MP bringing him a sandwich."  
Douglas shrugs again. "You never know. I mean, it was _Gordon._ It could have been much weirder.." He trails off into silence, apparently to ponder just how much weirder it could have been, before leaning forward, as though suddenly seizing upon an interesting thought. "Did Cameron speak?"  
Ed puts down his pen and stares at him. "No, Douglas, he threw the door open, bounded in, threw a than-sandwich at my head, and left. He's a fantathtic mime artist-it's how he'th planning to conduct Prime Minister's Questions from now on."  
He catches sight of Douglas's face and winces. "I'm sorry. I was just-I have a lot to do."  
Douglas holds up a hand. "It's fine. It's actually quite a decent move. You _do_ never eat enough. Though I wouldn't have thought it'd occur to a _Tory."_  
"They're not a different species, Douglath." Once, those words would have been coming from Douglas, not him.

Ed picks up his pen again, returning his attention to the notes in front of him. "Though, I agree, they might seem like it sometimeth-"  
Douglas is standing before he can correct himself. "Well, as long as you actually _ate_ something, for once. I was beginning to think we might walk in one morning and find your emaciated body lying on the desk with that pen still in your hand."  
Ed raises an eyebrow. "And yet you seem to have devoted many hours to picturing that happy scene."  
Douglas grabs a pen and throws it at him, but the words hang there a little heavily. Once, they wouldn't have, but that was once.  


* * *

  
  
Two days later, David has got his wish.  
"It'll be the same as it always is" he assured Sam this morning, when she'd still been sniggering over the events of the last few days. "He'll ignore facts, Bercow will tell us to shut up. It'll be one happy family."  
"If you don't end up throwing him a sandwich" Sam pointed out, even as David rolls his eyes and wonders if this is Miliband's new sandwich joke and if so, how long this one will last.  
Now, facing Miliband across the despatch box, throwing him a sandwich is the last thing on David's mind. Throwing this pen-he glances down at the one he's currently gripping so tightly it's leaving a white groove in his finger-maybe.  
"Mr. Speaker-" Miliband's already leaning on one arm, that voice rasping across the room (David's tempted to ask if the sore throat simply comes from loving the sound of his own voice.) "He-he obviously notices that I lost a couple of paragraphs in my speech. I-I've noticed-" (David would guess what was coming, even without the incredibly subtle gales of laughter coming from Miliband's front benches.) "I've noticed that since we last met, he's lost a couple of his members of parliament."  
David rolls his eyes, barely listening to the jeers from the Labourites. _Best you could do?_ he thinks idly, leafing through his papers while another part of his brain (the one that made him reach out and straighten Miliband's glasses. That part of the brain always letting the side down. That part, not to be trusted) is muttering, _Last time we talked, you were shoving down a sandwich, because you were too bloody stubborn to stop working long enough to eat._  
"The public aren't stupid" Miliband is saying now, and David bites back the obvious, tempting, but childish retort. _("No, but you certainly are.")_ He avoids looking at Miliband when he gives his answer-_he's_ not going to wave his hands about like an excited twelve-year-old-but he meets Miliband's eyes as he launches into his rebuttal and bites back a grin, that spike of irritation flaring, already longing to throw Miliband's words back in his face.  
He blames Miliband completely for the fact he might wave his hands a _tad_, as he throws the figures at him (with the childish feeling of _There, take that)_ but he feels forgiven when he gets to watch Miliband bobbing about like a yo-yo across from him.  
"They're the Chancellor's _own_ figures-" Each jab of Miliband's finger prompts another snigger from George, to David's left. David grinds his teeth as George leans in under the guise of examining his papers and mutters "Still keen on serving him his sandwiches?"  
But then he hears Miliband's words-"Disabled people are not worth the full wage"-and just like that, his pulse is racing, a hard, cold fury rising in his chest, and he's on his feet before Miliband is down, because _don't you dare, don't you dare say that, don't you dare..._He manages to keep his voice level as he tries to keep his mind on the points of the minimum wage going up but his hands are shaking, even though he's _fine, he's fine_...He can feel that George has stilled, watching him, but he's fine, even with that thought flooding his whole body, _how fucking dare you, how dare you when you know..._  
Miliband's still going on, but it's figures now, figures and bleating about _£2 an hour_, and then that voice, hoarse but clear-"Surely, someone with those views can't possibly stay in his government" and David's moving before he can think about it and his voice is cracking.  
"Those are not the views of the government" and the words shake in the air. "They're not the views of anyone _in_ the government. " _And don't you dare, don't you even think of-don't you dare act like I don't know what it's like, don't you stand there and think you can ever, ever..._  
He barely hears his own point as Bercow calls for order and only then does he hear the voices of his backbenchers, edged with shock, most of them directed at Miliband. George puts a hand on his arm, but David keeps his eyes fixed on Miliband, who's keeping his gaze firmly on his notes.  
"Prime Minister" says Bercow and David's speaking almost before Bercow's finished, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "And let me tell you-" The words tear at his throat and he stares straight at Miliband, feeling his hands shake. He wants to throw those papers at Miliband. He wants to grab him by his collar and shake him out of that stupid, confused look he's giving-_don't you dare act like you know what it's like-_  
"I don't need any lectures about looking after disabled people" and he's almost shouting now, his heart pounding so hard he feels sick. "So let's hear no more of that."  
He drags his gaze away from Miliband, the chamber wavering a little as he forces out the next few sentences, until he can stare straight at Miliband again and almost spit out his next words. "So, instead of casting aspersions-" What a stupid, trivial word that is; he's never noticed before now. "Why doesn't he get back to talking about the economy?"  
His knees shake as he sinks down. Miliband's up and yet his voice stutters a little, his eyes roaming over David's face, as if he has absolutely no idea what he's said wrong, as he launches into yet another question. David can barely listen, his heart hammering, the weight of George's and Nick's concern heavy on both sides.  
He's up again and this time, he leans forward, almost ripping at the folder in his hand because _if you think you know what hard is, you-you've never been there, you've never, never had to see-don't you ever, ever act like-_  
The words are raw in his throat. "Well, I've got a hard truth for him" and he makes sure to fix his eyes on Miliband's face as he speaks. "He's not up to the job" and he sinks down again, his heart pounding as if he's been running for miles, his fingers trembling as he curls them into fists, his chest empty and aching as he stares at Miliband across the despatch box, daring him to meet his eyes even once.  


* * *

  
Nick turns to him the second Prime Minister's Questions are over, a hand falling onto his shoulder. "Are you all right?"  
Of course Nick would ask. Nick always asks, even though he might not be expected to. George is there now, too, on his other side, shooting a glare across the chamber, even though Miliband isn't looking anywhere near them.  
"Want me to punch him?" he offers. "You can fire me afterwards, if you like."  
David forces a smile. It feels as though it might snap, fall off his face in two jagged pieces. "No, it's fine. I just-" His head throbs and he massages his temples, letting his eyes close. The cool darkness is there behind his lids, somewhere he can breathe, take a deep gulp of air for the first time in what feels like years.

He opens his eyes and stares at George and Nick. "I think I'm going to-I have a headache." It's the truth, after all. "I'm going to go and-" He gestures vaguely upwards and Nick-David really doesn't spend enough time praising Nick-is already nodding and telling him, yes, of course, go and have a rest, we'll find you later, we'll take care of everything else, just-George opens his mouth but Nick elbows him, steering him away by the arm.  
David has barely reached the landing when his phone buzzes with a text. Sighing, he fumbles for it, letting his eyes skim over the words.  
George. _If you need me, just ring._  
David closes his eyes as he slides the phone back out of his pocket. He briefly makes a mental note to call George and Nick later to thank them and then the phone buzzes again.  
His mouth twitches as he reads George's second message. _If you change your mind about the punching, just let me know anytime._  
David smiles as he reaches his office door, leans his head against the wood for a moment, the doorknob cold in his hand.  
The click of the door shutting behind him barely registers-he's already heading for his chair, fumbling with his phone to bring up one of his favourite pictures.  
David stares at the photo of his elder son; it had been one he'd snapped in the rush of the moment, one afternoon with his little boy's mouth wide in a laugh that has never failed to bring a smile to David's own mouth.  
Ten days after Ivan had been born, David had stared down at his baby son-his tiny,fragile, struggling little son-and traced the side of his cheek, waited until Ivan's baby blue eyes had flickered open and met his with a tiny mewl. David had pressed his nose to Ivan's, breathing him in, pressing tiny kisses to the tip, stroking his cheek.  
Five years is a long time. Long enough that you can laugh sometimes, and not have to try.  
He doesn't cry but he does lean his head on one hand. He squints through the dull pounding behind his eyes and he stares at the photograph of his son, as if he can somehow trace another inch of his smile, as if he doesn't already know every piece of his boy by heart.

* * *

Ed doesn't know what he expected when he turns to the others as they leave the chamber, still mentally rejoicing in the existence of steroids for his throat, but what he definitely doesn't expect is a sea of faces all with the undeniable look of someone about to deliver bad news.  
"What's wrong?" he asks, his eyes moving from one face to another, his heart sinking with every gaze that drops away.  
Yvette opens her mouth but then-most uncharacteristically-closes it again. Andy chews at his lip and says "Um-well-Ed-"  
"You made us sound like a bunch of tactless fucking idiots, that's what" says Balls, with all his customary diplomacy.  
Ed blinks. "Well, it would've been more hurtful if you'd told me what you really think" he says, trying to keep his tone light but his voice falters and the words trail away into awkward silence.  
"Ed." Andy swallows, tugging at his sleeve. "What you said about-you know-the disabled-"  
Ed feels his brow furrow. _"That'th_ what this is about?"  
"For fuck's _sake."_  
Yvette digs him in the ribs. It's Harriet who steps forward, her hand hovering as if she's about to place it on Ed's shoulder. "Ed" she says quietly. _"Ivan."_  
The name hangs in the air for a moment and Ed blinks, once, then again, slowly, as the truth sinks in.  
"Oh" he says and then he thinks of the way Cameron's eyes widened when he'd asked _"Is that his view?"_, the way that for a second before he'd launched into his reply, he'd just stared across the room as if he'd been hit, hard enough to knock the breath out of him.  
"Oh" he says because all he can see now is that look. "Oh God."  
He lets his head fall into his hands as the weight of it hits him. "Oh _God."_  
"Ed-" Andy begins but his voice trails off.  
"God-I don't even-" Ed swallows. "I don't even-_know_ what to thay-"  
"Pity you didn't have that problem in there-"

"Would you shut _up?"_  
Harriet and Andy exchange glances, ignoring Balls and Yvette, before she leans forward and says "It didn't look good, Ed."  
Ed stares at her. "I forgot" he says honestly. "God, I just-I completely forgot, it completely slipped my-I forgot" he says hopelessly because it's true, he _did_ forget, but he knows how pathetic it must sound and he closes his eyes. "God, I've got to sort this out. I've got to apologise to him-"  
"Ed" Andy starts, but he's already turning towards the corridor, wincing as he replays the entire Prime Minister's Questions in his head.  
"Maybe you should give him time to calm down..." Douglas has stepped forward.. "Give him some time, pop in this afternoon-he'll probably be happier to listen then."  
"And for God's sake, do it politely" Yvette chips in. "The last thing we need is to look like we were ungracious after-"  
Her voice trails off but Ed knows everyone's hearing the unspoken words. _After what you just did..._  
Ed knows it probably was the worst thing he could have done for his party-especially with an election coming up-but right now, all he can think is that he's got to let Cameron know it was a mistake.  
They might not see eye to eye but Cameron's got to know he would never have brought up-_anything_ to do with Ivan, no matter what Cameron had thrown. He winces.  
"I didn't even-God, how could I have-" He hears his own words again in his head, and winces again. "God, how could it have gone _worthe?"_  
"I don't know, why didn't you just shove your fingers up behind his head and call him a Nazi?"  
"ED!" Both Eds wince as Yvette, Douglas and what sounds like the rest of the Shadow Cabinet all shout at the same time. Balls rolls his eyes. "Just trying to lighten the mood."  
"I don't think you'd find it easy to lighten anything-"  
"Oh, _shut up, Burnham-"_  
"Enough." Harriet holds up a hand and reaches out to touch Ed on the shoulder. "Ed, I think you should give him some time-"

"Yeah, I don't think now is the best-"  
But Ed's not listening. He's already heading away. 

* * *

  
It's when he's met with Clegg and Osborne, arms folded with matching glares in the middle of the Portcullis canteen, that he wonders if Harriet and Yvette had the right idea.  
"Can we help you?"   
"Where's Cameron?" he asks and Clegg and Osborne exchange looks that tell him this is just what they expected.  
"Look" he says, before either one of them can hand over whatever excuse Cameron's come up with. "I need to see him. I need to-" These aren't words he's accustomed to saying, especially to members of the coalition. "I need to apologise."  
Osborne, who's just taken a gulp of tea, erupts into a coughing fit and has to be helpfully thumped on the back by Clegg, who's staring at Ed as if he's announced he thinks the coalition are doing a fine job with the NHS.  
"You want to-" Osborne is slowly recovering the power of speech. "Nick, I think I'm dead. I think I've died and ended up in a parallel universe where Miliband has sense-"  
Ed ignores him, keeping his eyes on Nick. "Nick" he says, his voice lower now. "I really need to talk to him."  
Nick's eyes roam down Ed's face for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Ed waits, swallowing hard.  
"Try his office" Nick says finally, giving Osborne one final pat on the back. "He'll probably be up there for lunch. But I'm warning you-" he adds, as Ed turns to leave. "Don't be surprised if he's busy."  
The unspoken words hover underneath and all Ed can do is nod. He can hardly _blame_ Cameron, after all.  


* * *

  
As Miliband walks away, having offered an awkward bobbing of the head with his "Thank you", George and Nick simply stare at each other for a long moment. Finally George opens his mouth. "What the hell was that?"  
Nick shakes his head, slowly. "You mean, you saw it too?"  
George's eyes are wide. "What do you think it is?" he asks. "Sabotage? Delusion? Extraterrestrial replacements?"  
Nick raises an eyebrow. "I was with you all the way up until the last one."  
George shakes his head. "Nah, you're right. How desperate would the aliens have to be to take Miliband?"  


* * *

  
Ed is definitely not anything close to being _scared_ of Cameron but even so, it takes a few minutes for him to be able to raise his fist and knock on the door, once he's been met by a furious glare from Kate, Gabby's arms folded across her chest as Kate had gently guided her away.  
There's a slightly longer pause than usual but then, much to Ed's relief, he hears Cameron's voice. "Come in."  
He doesn't sound markedly different than usual and Ed feels his shoulders relax a little as he pushes the door open, swallowing hard. (The whole situation has not done much to improve the dryness of his throat.)  
Cameron's sitting at his desk, staring at something on his phone. His brows are furrowed and to Ed's relief, he hardly looks as though he's dwelling overly on Ed's words.  
"Um-Cameron?"  
Cameron doesn't jump. Instead, there's a moment when his shoulders tense and his eyes narrow without moving from the screen. Ed finds himself twisting his fingers together awkwardly, the same way he used to at school while he sat in the library, praying everyone would think he was _choosing_ to sit alone.  
Cameron looks up slowly, his face carefully blank. "Yes?" he says, his tone cool, and Ed swallows, feeling himself shift from foot to foot.  
"Ah-I've been looking for you." The words hang weakly in the air, trailing off into silence as Cameron examines him coolly.

"You th-see-um-I wanted to-I thought I should let you know-well, I juth-" He feels the blush creep up his cheeks as the lisp breaks through again but Cameron's expression doesn't change at all.  
He swallows and the words break out in a rush, spilling a tide of mangled sounds. "You th-see-I w-wanted-to, um, find you-to let you know-I mean-I wanted to ap-apologize-well-not-I wanted to-I mean, what I said about-I wath-wasn't trying to offend you-with what I um-what I th-said-what I said about-um-the welfare offi-th-cer-I didn't mean it the way it sounded-I would never-I mean, I forgot about-well, anyway, I didn't mean to cauthe-cause any offenth-offence-"  
Ed can barely bear to keep looking at Cameron as he listens to his own voice babbling itself into nothingness, his tongue still wrestling with the words. He drops his eyes to the floor, his hands twisted together behind his back. He can feel Cameron's gaze resting on the top of his head and he feels the heat rise in his face as he stares fixedly at the carpet.  
Cameron's voice, when he speaks, is low and steady, each word carefully enunciated. "You came here to tell me that?"  
Ed feels a new wave of words rising up in his throat and he stutters over them as they pour out. "You see-youth-th-see-I didn't mean anything by it-you know, um-per-personally-I forgot-I honestly forgot that it could be a per-personally-" He falters over the words. "A personal-personal issue for you."  
Cameron's staring at him now, laying his phone down carefully on his desk. "You forgot?" he says slowly, and he's watching Ed with his head tilted to the side now and try as he might, Ed can't read the expression on his face at all.  
"Yes." He latches onto this with relief and he glances up at David desperately, chewing at his lip. "I-I honestly forgot it could be perth-personal" he corrects himself, wincing as his lisp becomes more pronounced with each word. "I-I promith-se I didn't mean it like that-at all. Honestly, I-I'm sorry-" he finishes, barely noticing that he's bypassing any formalities, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth as he glances anxiously at Cameron. "Honestly, it was all a mistake, I juth-juth-just forgot" he finishes weakly, chewing his lip harder than ever and painfully aware of how weak the excuse sounds.  
Cameron stares at him for a long moment and then he says, very softly "Lucky you."  
Ed lifts his head and stares back at Cameron and for the first time, he flinches at the look on Cameron's face. There's something raw and desperate there, something so utterly vulnerable that Ed almost feels as though he should look away. But instead, he takes one step forward and then another, reaching out without thinking.  
"I know" he says, his own voice quiet now and he swallows hard. "I-I really want you to know that I-I would never have thaid that-if I'd remembered, I would never-" He takes a deep breath and then forces himself to meet Cameron's eyes. "I would never have said it. I would never-I would never thay something like that to you. I wouldn't-" The words catch in his throat, softer now. "I honestly didn't mean to upthet you."  
David's head jerks suddenly, as if warding off a fly, and he stares at Ed for a long moment, his eyes softer now. Ed swallows, David's eyes resting on his and he's suddenly aware of his heartbeat as David says softly "Thank you."  
Ed nods and says, his own voice almost inaudible "I really am thorry."  
David nods and watches Ed for a long moment before he reaches out and takes Ed's hand, not looking away as they both move their hands up and down awkwardly. A small smile touches Ed's lips and David returns it. They shake hands for a few seconds and then both awkwardly loosen their grip. David tries for a smile and then winces as he raises a hand to his head.  
Ed's brow furrows. "What'th wrong?"  
David shakes his head. "Oh, nothing-just a headache. Florence had us up for hours last night, convinced there were snakes under her bed-" His smile broadens off Ed's look. "It's a phase she's going through."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again.  
David frowns. "What's wrong?"  
Ed takes a deep breath, then holds up a hand and says "Wait here a moment." He turns on his heel and hurries out of the room, leaving David staring after him, with a look torn somewhere between puzzled and amused.

* * *

  
Sadiq looks up, surprised, when Ed walks into his office. "Ed" he begins, his mouth already breaking into a smile, but Ed's already at his desk, the words spilling out of his mouth frantically. "Sadiq, do you know where I could find a flannel?"

* * *

  
Ten minutes later, he knocks on Cameron's door-this time, having faced merely confused looks from Gabby and Kate-and this time, the "Come in" is immediate. Ed walks in to find David sitting at his desk, staring at his phone again. This time, when he lifts his head to see Ed standing there, his lips part in a small smile.  
"I-um-" Now that Ed's actually handing David the stupid things, he's wondering if he shouldn't have just mumbled an apology and left. But David's still sitting slumped with his head on one hand and Ed's come back now, anyway.  
"I-I wanted to give you this" he says and he pulls out the packet of ibuprofen. He originally means to hand them to David like a sensible person but his hand doesn't obey him and he ends up awkwardly throwing them to David, who catches them easily.  
"I-um-you said you had a headache-" Ed silently counts to three before he reaches his next words, the trick he learnt years ago for when it feels as though his speech is about to fall apart. "I just thought I'd-um-"  
David's already emptying a tablet into his hand, his eyes flickering up to Ed's, mouth twitching into a grin. "Thanks."  
Ed decides it's best to just get the next part over with. He holds out the flannel rather lamely.  
David stares at it and Ed hears the babbling before he can stop himself-"I just thought, I'd-um-Lindsey in my offithe always thayth thith helps headaches, and she-she knows more about these things than I do-so I just thought-she says, if you just hold it on your-um-" He gestures towards Cameron's head vaguely. "She says it can cool you down-you know, help to, um-anyway, she says it-" He trails off as Cameron slowly drapes the flannel over his forehead, holding it in place with one hand.  
"I-" Ed snaps his mouth shut, wondering just how he could have embarrassed himself further, when Cameron's lips part, mouthing wordlessly for a moment, then shuts it, then opens it again.  
"I-um-thank you-I mean, well-um-" Cameron's cheeks seem to be a little more flushed than usual but it might just be the light. "I-I just want you to know I-um-appreciate this-I-well-I mean, thank you, thank you so much-" The flannel slips to one side and Ed and Cameron's hands dart out at the same moment, with Ed catching the cloth and carefully sliding it back into place, his fingers just brushing Cameron's as he does so.  
"Thank you" Cameron says again, far more quietly this time, and Ed drops his gaze, chewing at his lip and nods, keeping his eyes on the floor until suddenly, Cameron's standing upright and his hand is on Ed's shoulder.  
"This is-um-very kind" he says, his voice a little stronger now. "I-" The words trail off again and Cameron's lips twitch. "Thank you."  
Ed nods and waits, the silence stretching out between them.  
It's Cameron who says "Of course, you'll be used to dealing with the headaches from your Shadow Chancellor."  
Ed lets a smile flicker across his own lips. "No doubt that's what a lot of uth will be reduced to once you've privatized the NHS."  
"No doubt that most people are aware that we don't plan to privatize the NHS."  
"No doubt-"  
"Order, order-" At first, Ed thinks Bercow's walked into the room behind them but then he sees Cameron's hand rapping on the desk, and finds himself sniggering even as Cameron claps his shoulder again, flannel still stuck to his forehead.  
They stare at each other as the laughter fades and it's Ed who says "Um-I'd better-"  
Cameron nods. "Oh. Oh yes, of course-of course-and thanks-thank you." He holds up the ibuprofen packet again and Ed nods, turning for the door, less thrilled about leaving than he should be.  
"Wait." Cameron's voice is a little louder than usual and when Ed turns back, it's to see the other man watching him, one hand on the flannel, the other curled tight around the packet Ed's just given him.  
"Um-you might want to try some warm honey and lemon?" David gestures awkwardly at his own neck. "You know, for your throat? Sam swears by it, makes me drink it any time I've got a speech-" He tries for a smile. "It works a treat."  
Ed becomes aware he's standing, staring at Cameron with his mouth open and hastens to close it again. "That sounds like a good idea-I-um-thank you."  
Cameron nods. "No problem." A ghost of a grin flickers across his mouth. "Besides, we don't want you Labourites leaping on it as an excuse when you lose-""  
"When we win, I'll drink it before I read you my consolation speech."  
"I imagine you're constantly in need of it, the amount _you_ talk."  
"Only to counteract the amount _you_ talk-and the lack of content that couldn't be described as almotht useless."  
"At least, in our case, it's just _almost."_  
Ed's laughing as he turns back to the door, even as he shakes his head, saying "You're a bad loser, Cameron."  
"And you'll prove that you are, come May." But Cameron's still grinning and as Ed leans in to pull the door shut, he hears Cameron's voice again, a little softer. "See you later, Miliband."  
Ed's own voice is quieter than he expected. "Th-see you, Cameron" and he turns to head back to his own office, wondering why he can't seem to keep the grin off his face.

* * *

  
  
_**The lemon and honey worked. Thank you for the tip.**  
Glad to hear it. Now you won't have any excuses.  
**That makes one more for you to borrow, then.**  
Labour knows all about borrowing, I suppose.  
**At least, we don't have spin doctors who borrow phone records.**  
How's the deficit getting on?  
**Going up under your watch.**  
Like jobs, housing, education, etc.  
**Granted. And tuition fees.**  
Granted. Wonder why? ::)  
**What on earth is that?**  
It was an attempt at what I believe is called an emoji.   
**The Prime Minister of Great Britain chooses to conduct his communications through the use of abundant smiley faces.**  
It's known as relating to the people.  
**I presume you're being sarcastic.**  
Etonians are people, too.  
**Is that the slogan for your next campaign?**  
What's yours? How To Lose An Election in 10 Easy Steps?  
**Cameron, you're better than that.**  
Thank you. Step One: Hire Ed Balls.  
**Step Two: Give more spending cuts than an eager barber.**  
Step Three: Invade Iraq.  
**Granted. Step Four: Hire Coulson.**  
You're labouring the point.  
**Very clever, Cameron.**  
I thought so.  
**At least one person did.**  
More than usually agree with you.  
**We have something in common, then.**  
__  
_

* * *

_Playlist_

_Secret Little Sweetheart-Standard Fare-"I said I don't know her/But I knew her all along"_

_Is It Really So Strange?-The Smiths-"Oh, is it really so strange?/Oh, is it really so, is it really so strange?/I say NO, you say YES/(and you will change your mind)"_

_Boy About Town-The_ _ Jam-"See me walking around/I'm the boy about town, that you heard of/See me walking the streets, I'm on top of the world that you heard of"_

_ The Painting-Rhian Sheehan _

_Chocolate-Snow Patrol-"This could be the very minute/I'm aware I'm alive/All these places feel like home"_

* * *

_The end is almost too painful to relate, even to recall._

_We had had some scares and close shaves. Seizures that never seemed to end. Chest infections that he would struggle to shake off. And then one night, 24 February 2009, Shree woke us to say that Ivan's stomach had become badly swollen and he was in terrible pain. This time Sam said she would take him to hospital and I should stay with the other children. I will never forget holding Ivan in my arms in the cold night air as Sam threw some clothes and blankets on the back seat and started the car._

_As soon as they were gone, I started worrying that this time it was different. So I too dashed to the hospital. When I got there the situation had deteriorated badly. A team was standing over Ivan in the emergency room, working desperately to resuscitate him. But he had gone. Adrenalin injections. Defibrillator pads. Nothing worked. He had suffered a massive organ failure. Sam and I were left holding him as the team, visibly moved, backed away to give us some space. We had always known this might happen, but nothing, absolutely nothing, can prepare you for the reality of losing your darling boy in this way._

_You never fully recover from the loss of a child. But you can steadily learn to cope. I threw myself back into my work as a way of trying to manage. When I look back, I realise that I started working again too quickly. For a while I was too fragile and not in the right state of mind to make decisions. Nothing else seemed to matter alongside what we had lost. But what is often said about grief I found to be true. While at first you think the gloom will never lift, there comes a time-and for me it was many months later-when some of the happy memories start to break through and you remember what you had, not only what you have lost._

_And having Ivan taught us so much. About unconditional love. About our total devotion to each other. About the extraordinary compassion in our health service and the lengths that people go to in order to help. We learned about our strengths, but also our limitations._

_Ivan lies buried opposite the church in Chadlington. We take the children there, and tell him how things are going and how much we still miss him. Sam found an inscription from Wordsworth for the headstone that sums up so much of what we feel:_

**_"I loved the Boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable, and he is taken from me-yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed_ ** _ **it."** -For The Record, David Cameron _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Portcullis House canteen:https://bit.ly/2UMHHB1  
Ivan was David's severely disabled son who passed away aged 6 in 2009, the year before David became PM, which was a huge news story in Britain. His disability was seen as having a major impact for the Camerons both personally and politically. You can read an extract from David's memoir about his son here: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/i-loved-ivan-with-all-my-heart-david-cameron-on-losing-his-son-hswq05b8s  
You can see clips of David and Ivan in this episode of the documentary The Cameron Years:https://bit.ly/39CtwEO  
Historically, then PM Gordon Brown-who had lost his own baby daughter years before-suspended Prime Minister's Questions and instead spent the session paying tribute to his opponent's son. The House was then suspended for half an hour, the only time it has ever been done for the death of a child. George is godfather to Nancy and Elwen and Gove was Ivan's godfather, so their families were also hugely affected.  
The reports of Ivan's death, interviews/articles from his parents, Commons tributes, and Cameron speaking about Ivan in his conference speech: https://bbc.in/2TwIBlB  
https://bbc.in/2TMPHRT  
https://bit.ly/2IsDbS7  
https://bit.ly/2JajZsH  
https://bit.ly/2VWVfvU  
https://bit.ly/38zL8zI  
https://bit.ly/39BDyWq  
https://bit.ly/2Ur5eXT  
https://www.spectator.co.uk/2009/02/a-son-who-inspired-only-goodness-and-love/  
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/short-hard-life-of-ivan-cameron-whose-suffering-could-change-britain-mw2pgbxb6bf  
https://bit.ly/2IxQH7k  
https://bit.ly/332pqTZ  
https://bit.ly/38wnGmL  
https://bit.ly/2Iu41tp  
https://dailym.ai/39rrN5B  
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-courage-of-the-camerons-3zwnht69lmj  
https://bit.ly/2PXEBIC  
https://bbc.in/3aPbFuz  
http://www.itv.com/news/update/2014-10-01/pm-discussed-mentioning-son-ivan-in-speech-with-wife/  
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/david-cameron/11133710/Samantha-Cameron-close-to-tears-as-Prime-Minister-describes-how-NHS-cared-for-couples-dying-son.html  
https://bit.ly/38wpdcv  
https://bit.ly/38vFQoN  
https://politi.co/2wIPNlq  
Nancy was 5 and Elwen 3 at the time of Ivan's death. Florence was born the following year, when her dad was Prime Minister: https://bit.ly/2IHOJ4p  
https://bit.ly/2v4Ushn  
https://bit.ly/39zkZCz  
Samantha has only spoken publicly about Ivan's death in the last few years:http://dailym.ai/32ZvwUW  
https://bit.ly/32YGryj  
https://bit.ly/2IB8A4R  
Cameron works with charities post-premiership that carry out research into the causes of genetic disorders: https://bit.ly/39BnG6p  
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-cameron-interview-boris-johnson-brexit-and-the-referendum-9gkxqghv9  
The opening statements are the last lines of each of their 2014 conference speeches, which can be seen here:  
https://bbc.in/38sAyuk  
https://bbc.in/3cIVJeQ  
https://bbc.in/3aHHKUH  
Nick and Miriam: https://bit.ly/2VUEukR  
https://bit.ly/333fV6E  
Ed and Justine:https://bit.ly/39zSvsf  
https://bit.ly/3cGcpDH  
https://bit.ly/2xoWPMV  
https://bit.ly/337yVRF  
David and Samantha:https://bit.ly/2Q00UgG  
https://bit.ly/2TLX7oA  
https://bit.ly/3cJgtmD  
https://bit.ly/2vOROww  
https://bit.ly/3aEjzXn  
https://bit.ly/3aEjAKV  
https://bit.ly/2IsCo3B  
https://bit.ly/38AOnqG  
Ed had forgotten to mention the deficit, which had a major impact in the election on the party's perceived economic credibility: https://bbc.in/2VWuxDG  
https://bit.ly/2TAoOS4  
https://bit.ly/2xm26Vm  
Ed and Justine's failed kiss and Ed's comment are here:https://bit.ly/2W6WuJ5  
https://bit.ly/39FYNXu  
The PMQs depicted is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCYxxhXB21c  
Ed was annoyed David didn't call him after the referendum: https://bit.ly/2VS94M1  
Ed finding Harriet's coat: https://bit.ly/38yHVjN  
Ed and Douglas' friendship becoming strained: https://bit.ly/2tfDlbu


	3. Ectoplasmic Aviation, Green-Tipped Devil Horns and the Law Of Remote-Control Defence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there are unwanted devil horns and there occurs a Great Ectoplasmic Aviation Debate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to send me an ask about the fic, tell me what you like about it, or just chat, find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) .  
The reference notes in this chapter refer to Ed's experience of Halloween, Ed lacking rebellion, Tony Blair locking Gordon Brown in a bathroom, and David's friendship with Ian.  
If you want to read any of the articles but can't, send me an ask or a message and I'll find a way for you to :)  
Leave a comment, kudos, etc.

_Later, there was a moment at Nick Ryden's which illustrated the tenor of it all. Nick had just moved into a big old house and was doing the place up. He kindly agreed to go out and leave us alone to talk. After an hour or so, Gordon got up to go to the loo. I waited downstairs. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then fifteen. I was getting a bit alarmed. Suddenly the phone went. As it wasn't my house, I left it. The answerphone clicked in, and Nick's voice asked the caller to leave a message. Suddenly, out of the machine boomed another voice: **"Tony, it's Gordon here."** Wow, I was really freaked out. What the hell was going on? **"I am upstairs in the toilet"** he went on, **"and I can't get out."**_

_In the building works, the loo door had been replaced but had no handle on the inside yet. Gordon had spent a quarter of an hour on his mobile trying to track down Nick's number. The soundproofing in the house meant that I never heard him. I went up to the loo.** "Withdraw from the contest, or I'm leaving you in there"** I said.-A Journey: My Political Life, Tony Blair_

_One negotiation (between Blair and Brown) took place on the evening of John Smith’s funeral in the Edinburgh home of Nick Ryden, a friend of Blair’s since their schooldays at Fettes. When they turned up, Ryden could see how bad things were between them. **“Don’t kill each other. You’ve both got a lot to offer the country”** was his parting advice before he took himself off to the pub. Their arguing was interrupted at one point when Brown disappeared to use the lavatory. When time passed and he didn’t come back, Blair assumed that the other man had stormed off in one of his rages. Then he heard the phone ringing and a familiar Scottish voice growling into Ryden’s answering machine. Brown was calling on his mobile from the lavatory. The door handle had come off, imprisoning him in the loo. Blair picked up the phone: “**I’ll let you out, Gordon, but only if you give me certain assurances about the leadership.”**-The End Of The Party: The Rise And Fall Of New Labour, Andrew Rawnsley _

_Both David and Ed matured much faster than other kids their age, and were more disciplined and driven. Ralph and Marion's ages were also a factor, with Ralph having turned forty-six less than a fortnight after Ed was born. ** "One of the reasons David and I never rebelled is because we had older parents"**_ _ Ed has said, remembering how his friends at secondary school had been shocked to discover that his father was in his sixties. **"I had the oldest parents in the playground."**_ _ In February 1973, when Ed was just three years old, Ralph collapsed after suffering a **"moderately severe"**_ _ heart attack during a meeting at Leeds University, where he had moved from the LSE to become head of the politics department. Given Ralph and Marion's declining years, Ralph's heart problems, and a turbulent family history involving death, dispossession and destruction at the hands of the Nazis, Ed grew up with a sense of his parents'-particularly his father's-frailty and mortality.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_In 1977, the Miliband family moved again-this time to the United States, where Ralph had arranged to spend the academic year as a visiting professor at Brandeis University, near Boston. Ralph and Marion rented a house on Franklin Street in Newton, an affluent suburb east of the city, and bought a car-and a cat. David and Edward joined local schools, where they thrived. Indeed, Ed has described his time in America as one of the happiest periods of his life; Ralph, the Marxist theoretician, would often take his two young sons to one of the icons of capitalism, McDonald's, to eat burgers and then on to the local bowling alley-for Ed, it was a** "big treat."** Ralph decided to stay on in America, part-time, but the following year, Marion and the children returned to the UK, and it was not until September 1982 that Ed would return to the US. His mother had become interested in health care and childcare issues and accepted a job with the West Midlands Health Authority which required her to be away from London, and the family home, for several months. David was seventeen and could stay on his own but Ed was just twelve and **"they felt that he needed to be with one of his parents. It was therefore decided that he should go with Ralph."** Ralph was delighted to have Ed around. He wrote, in a letter to Marion: **"I find myself very gladly in the role of father and mother combined and spend a fair amount of time thinking about what needs to be done, and realise better how much you do and how demanding it is and how much more I should do when I am in London."** Young Ed's presence in Boston boosted Ralph's spirits; he was much more positive about his teaching and his research with Ed around than when he was on his own and prone to occasional depression. Ralph was living in the home of the radical sociologist Kurt H. Wolff in Bennington Street, in Newton, where father and son would enjoy making and then eating spaghetti in cold sauce together.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_One of those best placed to understand what the couple were going through was not an old friend but a new contact. Ian Birrell, then deputy editor of the Independent, had initially invited Cameron to lunch-before Ivan's birth-for professional reasons. By the time the engagement was finally fixed, there was a personal motivation. Ian and Linnet Birrell's second child Iona, then eight years old, also has severe epilepsy. She is effectively blind, is unable to walk or talk, is in need of round-the-clock care and suffers seizures on a daily basis. Instead of the usual Westminster gossip, the lunch ended up as an intense discussion about disability and parenting. Birrell shared his experiences of coping, and of the struggles that lay ahead, and as a result became close friends with Cameron and, later, with Samantha. **"The reality is that you come to realise that this is the child you've got and you learn to love that child, the child you hadn't expected to have"** says Birrell. **"Your love is very different, but no less strong."..."I once asked David if he thinks that Ivan enjoys life-it is, as I know, something that can be quite hard to tell"** said Birrell. **"And he sort of paused and looked up and then said "Oh, not really, I think his life's very tough" and that's their main concern. It hurts them so much to see him suffer the whole time. They have not been concerned about the fact that he won't go to Oxford or play tennis at Wimbledon. What has bothered them, above all, has been trying to make his life as good as it can be."...**As a parent in this situation, Birrell said, you either cope or you go under. And if you do cope, you reach a strange new normality, although it is not normality by most people's standards...**"I know Sam worries about him, almost every second, every day"** Birrell said in 2006.**"She has told me that she is always thinking: Is he in pain? Is he happy? What's happening with the carers? The truth is that a severely disabled child does overshadow so much else in one's life...I think what it does mean is that-and I've spoken to him (David) about this-the worst thing that can happen to him in his job is that maybe he gets rejected by the party or suffers a cataclysm at the election. For any other politician that would be an absolute disaster, and of course with David it would be very upsetting. But having been through what he's been through, he has an unusual sense of perspective for a politician on his political life."**..Children with severe epilepsy are at constant risk that a seizure may go out of control, perhaps even fatally. And many of the sudden unexpected deaths in such cases occur at night. Ian Birrell puts it starkly: **"Every morning you go downstairs and you are not sure if you are going to find your child alive or not in bed."**-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott & James Hanning_

_One person who could truly relate to their experience was newspaper journalist Ian Birrell, who has a profoundly disabled daughter who was aged eight when Ivan was born. By chance, Birrell, who was deputy editor of the Independent at the time, had arranged a working lunch with Cameron shortly after Ivan's birth. Instead of talking politics, the young MP and the journalist ended up having an intimate conversation about disability and parenting. Birrell recalls: **"We had a very moving, deep conversation. We talked in incredible depth about it all. I suspect he may not have had anyone in such a similar position to talk to. I just remember talking about what it was like; the impact on your life, and how you handle it. When you have a child like that, you basically go through a very deep depression, actually a form of grieving. It's recognised as a form of grief. So I guess I was talking about that. He was remarkably upbeat."** Birrell remembers being **"very, very struck" **by the sense that Cameron was different to most Conservatives he had met. ** "He seemed very comfortable in the modern world, which I found refreshing and unusual. We just got on really well. I really liked him as a person. I also liked him as a politician, and obviously we had this immediate bond that we could talk about. The truth is that nobody else understands the pressures on you and your family-what it's really like for you emotionally."**_

_They became close friends as well as colleagues (Birrell worked as one of Cameron's speechwriters in the run-up to the 2010 election.) As well as understanding, Birrell was able to provide practical advice on how to harness the help of social services and find the right special school. This proved a bitter battle: initially, educational psychologists were insistent that Ivan should go to a mainstream nursery. **"It was political correctness gone mad"** Samantha has said. **"It simply wasn't the right thing (for him) and was really upsetting as a parent. Ivan had a feeding tube, very bad epilepsy. He couldn't sit up. He couldn't communicate at all. He needed to be somewhere more sensory and stimulating, with people who knew how to look after him."** Eventually, they got him a place at a school in Hammersmith for children with severe learning disabilities. It proved a godsend. Here he received plenty of one-to-one attention and specialist help. Securing local funding for respite and day care involved reams of bureaucracy, and literally dozens of assessments. Birrell says that for parents of disabled children, navigating the system is **"one of the many things that make your head explode."**,,,Did Ivan also make Cameron bolder? Birrell says being the parent of a desperately disabled child puts everything else in perspective, making it easier to take risks. **"Say you're a complete disaster; you're laughed at; your career is over. Obviously you care, but it's not the end of the world-you've suffered far worse. It gives you a certain confidence to do things you might not otherwise have. You just say fuck it."**-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_The truth is, people want you to be normal, but the press criticise you for doing family things and taking time out. One incident that does seem to stick in people's minds is the day in 2012 when we went for one of our regular weekend walks to our local pub, the Plough at Cadsden. On the day in question, we had friends staying, and I remember bundling a big group of children into one car and watching as Sam did the same with another. Back at the house, as we were about to warm ourselves at the fireplace in the Great Hall, we both asked "Where's Nancy?" Then followed the usual Mum and Dad discussion-"I thought you had her." Then the inevitable panic._

_Sam rushed back to the Plough, where eight-year-old Nancy was helping out behind the bar. All was well. (Months later Matt, the superb cartoonist from the Telegraph, sent us his drawing of Nancy sitting dejectedly at the bar of a pub, with the speech bubble saying she was worried about leaving her father to run the country. It is in her bedroom today.)-For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

_How do you approach it (Halloween) in your family?_

_Erm-I think my kids dress up a bit. But I don't-it's not sort of a mega-you know, it's not a mega thing. My son's birthday, Sam, is on November the 7th and so that's kind of a bigger event.-Ed, discussing Halloween in 2017_

_I think I first did it (dressing up for Halloween) when I was seven-I think it was the only time I really remember, when I was living in America and it was obviously a massive thing in America then, and it was not a thing at all, I don't think,in Britain...I think I had a sort of skeleton-one of those skeleton costumes...but I remember, I went to one house and they-and this is going to sound really peculiar, but it's what I have, like, etched in my mind-I think they were-they did not really like kids going to Halloween, so they, like, gave you some, like, horrible goulash or something which sat in sort of-you know, in your bag, and it was...I've got a memory of this.-Ed Miliband, speaking about childhood Halloweens in 2018_

* * *

_"We're not similar in any way, whatsoever. I literally do not understand why you even care about-" I stop then because I was about to say "me" but I realised midway through that that was truly a horrific sentence._

_He looks down. "I don't think that...I understand...either...."_

_I'm just standing there, staring._

_"You know it's said that extreme communism and extreme capitalism are actually very similar" he says.-Solitare, Alice Oseman._

_Sometimes when we're chatting or laughing together, I actually forget that she's a Cross. But only sometimes. When that happens, I force myself to look at her and concentrate on her skin colour and nothing else. And that usually does the trick. I focus on the things that are totally different about us. What surprises me is that sometimes I actually forget about our differences. Not for long-but it does happen. -Knife Edge, Malorie Blackman_

_Cath turned her fork on Reagan. "Don't feel sorry for me. I don't want you to feel sorry for me."_

_"I can't help it" Reagan said. "You're really pathetic."_

_"I am not."_

_"You are. You don't have any friends, your sister dumped you, you're a freaky eater....And you've got some weird thing about Simon Snow."_

_"I object to every single thing you just said."-Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

_Katie doesn't fancy Effy-she doesn't even like her, most of the time-but she's grown to hate her a little less; sometimes, more often than she'd care to admit, she remembers why she wanted to be friends with her in the first place, and it's in those moments she never wants to see Effy again. She hit me with a fucking rock, she thinks, and it's ridiculous, that she has to remind herself.-Torn Down From Glory Daily, brocanteur (Skins fanfiction)_

_"Darlings" said Rooney in a fake posh drawl as we all sat down, turning away from her new friends. "You all look **so** nice." She looked directly at Pip. "So stripes are your thing, Felipa?"_

_Pip narrowed her eyes at the use of her unshortened name. "Have you been Facebook-stalking me?"_

_"Instagram, actually. I enjoyed the photo of you dressed up as a crayon for Halloween."_

_This earned a smug smile from Pip. "You scrolled **very** far back then."_

_We had to suffer several minutes of irritating banter between Pip and Rooney before Jason and I could even contribute to the conversation.-Loveless, Alice Oseman_

* * *

The next day, David walks into Miliband's office with a sandwich and a lecture.

"I thought you said you'd eat occasionally."

"I thought you'd learn to knock." Miliband raises his head from his paperwork, those glasses balanced on the tip of his nose. "How did you know I hadn't eaten?"

David drops the sandwich next to Miliband's elbow. "I noticed you hadn't come down."

Miliband's eyebrows arch. "You were looking for me?"

David avoids his gaze. "Like I said-" he sinks down awkwardly in the chair so he and Miliband are facing one another. "I don't want you using malnourishment as an excuse when we beat you in May."

Miliband smirks, already unwrapping the sandwich, his eyes still on David's. "Don't tell me I've th-stolen your excuse."

David snorts. "What makes you think I'm preparing any?"

A ghost of a grin flickers across Miliband's mouth as he takes a bite and David notices that his voice seems to have improved when he says,"Improvising on the day?"

"Isn't that your whole leadership strategy?"

Miliband smirks again and David adds, before he can think twice "Your voice sounds better, anyway." He wants to grab the words back the second they're out of his mouth.

Miliband chews at his lip. "Yeth. Thanksth, the drink worked-I mean, I'd have had to come in anyway, but-" He shrugs.

"Well, Sam swears by it." David vaguely recalls Nancy, age seven, pouting at her mother, arms folded as she insisted the drink tasted like "warmed-up sick", a substance David was unaware Nancy had ever tasted. "It's what she doses the kids with when sore throats are going around."

"How are they?"

"Oh, they're all doing well." David feels his grin spread at the memory. "Though Nancy is horrified that I would use the term emoji."

Nancy had dropped her spoon that morning and stared at her father as if he'd planned to appear at her school clad in a Superman outfit rather than simply announced that he could now converse in fluent emoji. "Dad!" she'd said, her voice a little muffled thanks to her hands now covering her face. "Dad, you _can't_ use the term emojii. That's what _we_ say."

"What?" David had asked wide-eyed, while Sam ruffled their daughter's hair and Elwen reached past her for the porridge pan. "Don't you want your dad to know all the lingo?"

Nancy's hands had fallen from her face and she had stared at her father with a look of such abject horror that David was sure the Grim Reaper had just appeared behind him.

"Dad" she said, her voice faint. "Don't ever say that in front of anyone else."

"Why not? I thought it was quite hip to know-"

Nancy had let out a muffled screech and her head had fallen into her hands again. "Dad, _don't!_ You make Phil Dunphy sound _cool."_

David, chastened by the horrors of the Phil Dunphy comparison, had turned to Sam who'd said, voice lowered so none of the children could hear, "I'm just amazed it was Ed Miliband you were texting for nearly an hour."

David had frowned. "Not nearly an hour, surely-"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "About that, given that_ I_ was the one kept awake-"

"The phone was on silent-"

"The bed shook every time you laughed." Sam shot him a glance over her shoulder as she picked up Florence, who'd just come scurrying into the kitchen with her arms up. "I didn't even know Ed Miliband could _make_ you laugh."

"Well, it was-politics." At Sam's disbelieving look, David felt his own face warm. "It _was"_ he'd insisted, turning to lift Elwen back from the table, before his son's school jumper ended up in the porridge bowl. "Politics that happened to be...amusing."

* * *

_   
_

Now, facing Miliband across the desk, David relates a condensed version of the events at the breakfast table. Miliband smirks again. "I agree with Nanthy."

"I thought you might. But then, she's my daughter-it's her job to be ashamed of me."

Miliband shakes his head. "God knows why kids go through that stage. I never did."

"No, neither did I. Though-I suppose I went through the rebellious stage-but I don't remember ever being ashamed of my parents."

Miliband's eyes narrow. "I'm sure Nancy isn't ashamed of you. She's just-how old is she?"

"Ten."

"She's just ten." 

"How old are your boys, now?"

"Five and almotht four."

David laughs. "God, I can't believe that. It seems like yesterday we were sending over presents for Samuel."

"I remember" Miliband agrees, dragging the chair even closer to the table. "You held him when he was a week old."

David remembers the moment well, Sam and Justine making friendly conversation in the background while he held the baby carefully. Miliband had stood next to them, watching them both closely-David had been about to remark that he'd held babies before, he wasn't about to drop this one, but then he'd seen the way Miliband was staring at the baby, eyes wide as if taking in something new every second, and all David had said quietly was "You should be proud. He's beautiful." And Miliband had glanced up at him and smiled.  
"He was lovely" he says now. Miliband smiles almost shyly, a little uncertainly. "And you held Florence, didn't you?"

Ed nods, still looking uncertain.

"He'll be starting school soon, won't he?"

Miliband nods again. "He'th in nursery."

  
"Florence just started in September. She loves it."

"Same school as Nancy and Elwen?"

"Yes. It seems to have done so much for them, that we decided we might as well let them all go to the same one. It's a nice little community-it's linked to the church and things. But of course, Nancy'll be in secondary next year."

"Have you decided where yet?"

"Not yet." David takes a sip of his tea. "We've narrowed it down to Lady Margaret and Grey Coat-Bea's at Grey Coat, that's the one we're thinking of going for. All-girls, C of E-plus, Nance likes them. We looked at Holland Park, but we're not keen on the co-ed thing."

"Not private, then?"

David arches an eyebrow at him. "I said I'd send them state if I could."

Miliband grins, eyes dancing mischievously.

"Anyway, hopefully, there'll be a couple of girls from her class going to each one." David turns his cup in his saucer. "I think her friend Lola's going to Grey Coat. And obviously, Bea's there-"

"Bea?"

"Michael's daughter. Beatrice."

"Oh, yeth." Ed twirls his spoon in his cup. "Have you been round the schoolth yet?"

"Yep. We started last year, and we've been going round them again in the last few weeks. Nance has got the exam to see if she qualifies for a languages place at Grey Coat next month, but odds are, she'll get in on the religion." David takes a sip of tea. "Though she makes me wait outside whenever she goes into the classrooms with Sam on the visits."

Ed grins harder.

"What about Sam? Do you know where he's-"

"He'th going to the same one as Daniel-he'th at nurthery there. Juthtine's a governor."

"Oh, right-"

"I mean, I think they enjoy it." Miliband frowns slightly, and David's about to ask how he can only think, when the door opens and an aide pops his head round with tea.

  
"Thorry" says Miliband, the second the door's closed and David shakes his head, wanting to tell Miliband he should do anything but apologize. "Go on with what you were saying. Sam says I talk about the kids too much-"

Miliband laughs and shakes his head. "I thuppothe-I want them to do well" he says, a little stiffly. "But I thuppothe-I had an idea of them. They might prove me wrong."

  
David sips at his tea. "It won't matter though. You'll-" He remembers the first time he held Ivan after they'd been told exactly what their little boy had, how he'd stared at his baby sleeping, pressed his lips to his forehead and whispered very quietly "I love you more than anything in the world."

  
"It doesn't matter what they're like" David says. "You'll love them exactly the same."

  
Miliband's eyes meet his. They're dark, darker than David's ever noticed before, and he stares back as the moment stretches out between them.

"Yeth, I suppose" says Miliband, a little stiffly.

David swallows and takes another sip of tea. "It's only now I realise what we must have put our own parents through when we were kids. I mean, mine go out of sight for a second and I'm panicking- I mean-with all the protection, but still-" David trails off, unable to put into words that cold, choking fear that grips at his chest whenever one of the children ducks out of sight, that horrible, helpless feeling that had closed around his heart the time they'd left Nancy behind, the awful realization sinking in of having no idea where his daughter was.

Miliband smirks at him. "Then again, I hope we'll never leave one of them in a pub."

David rolls his eyes. "You're not the only one who keeps reminding me."

Sadiq walks in as Miliband bursts out laughing and he watches his boss for a long moment, his lips twitching with what looks suspiciously like a suppressed smile. "Sorry to interrupt" he says, when Miliband raises a hand in greeting. "But both are you are required to be in a meeting in five minutes." Sadiq smirks and taps his watch. "Lunch hour was over ten minutes ago."

David glances at Miliband and sees the other man looking just as surprised as he feels. Maybe Sam's assessment this morning had been more accurate than he realised, when it came to talking with Miliband.

* * *

  
The next day, he brings Miliband a sandwich again-there's something they need to discuss, in advance of a meeting later, and somehow, they end up spending the lunch hour together. And then on Monday, Miliband meets him at his office, holding two sandwiches, apparently oblivious to George, Nick and Gavin's jaws dropping.

"I thought I'd save you the trouble" he says, with that grin that David knows means there's more to come. He waits, biting back his own smirk.

"With all the energy you'll need for your election campaign."

And there it is.

With a grin and the line "Oh, we will-we'll be trying to draw attention away from Labour's complete failures, give you a chance to recover" , the two of them head into David's office where the argument carries on through the lunch hour amidst Miliband's opinion on David's wall decorations ("Seriously, Cameron?" "It promotes good morale" ""Keep Calm, It's Jutht A Recession?" Really?") and biscuits. (David wouldn't have originally pegged Miliband for a sweet tooth but , remembering the way he can polish off Jaffa Cakes-albeit with a crack about David Cameron acquainting himself with the lower classes-David has been wrong.)

It isn't until Miliband heads back to his own office with the parting shot of "I'll thee you in the meeting. Don't bother lifting your head, I'll understand if you want to hang it" and David has thrown back "They can stick mine next to yours' on a spike, then", and has retreated back into his office, that there is a knock on the door.

Nick, George, Danny and William do not say anything when they walk into the office. You wouldn't think, David reflects as he surveys them, that they are the Deputy Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Chief Secretary to the Treasury, and the former Foreign Secretary. They look more like a group of teenagers-albeit teenagers with receding (generous in William's case) hairlines, a few more wrinkles than they'd like to admit and middle-age spread-smirking and nudging each other, as if only one still retains the power of speech and they're still trying to decide which one that is.

"You-" Nick has clearly lost the battle. "You and Miliband-can eat together?"

David sits up straight. "We're both capable of putting food in our mouths and swallowing, yes."

"Well-" William laughs. "This is Miliband. There is a slight chance, David-" Danny nudges him in the ribs and he falls silent.

"But-" Nick is interrupted by George who, less tactfully, says "How come one of you hasn't put a pen in the other's neck yet?"

David sighs. "Miliband and I are capable of being in the same room, you know. We've had to do it plenty of times over the last five years."

"Maybe he's finally snapped" George muses, staring at David as though he's just announced he wants to move to the London Zoo. "Maybe Michael was right."

"Michael?"

William's mouth twitches. "There was a bet going around when you were first elected." David and George both stare at him. William swallows. "Not that I'd know anything about it."

David rolls his own eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Nick manages to get a few words out, this time. "We're just surprised" he says, fairly evenly.

"I mean, you and Miliband actually seem to be-" Danny clears his throat. "Getting on."

"We do get on." But David has to admit, he knows what the four of them are getting at. Of course he knows.

And he and Miliband disagree on virtually everything. And they're political rivals-by rights, they should only meet when they have to.

By rights.

But then. There's that feeling of spitting out comebacks before Miliband can, firing them out on a phone, the way he'll find his mouth aching with laughter, at some stupid, stupidly insulting, insultingly hilarious remark Miliband's come out with. Sometimes, their smiles grow at exactly the same time.

Maybe he and Miliband are....in the region of..friends...or something. Something like it.

Then again, he'd-well, he'd miss this. And the texting. And-

Maybe he and Miliband are friends. Sort of. Even though they hate each other's ideas and some of Miliband's suggestions are just downright ridiculous and most of their debates seem to consist of Bercow bellowing "Order" over their clashing voices like an irate headteacher-

"David?" A finger's clicked under his nose and he jumps, fingers fastening around the nearest pen. "What?"

Nick, George, Danny and William exchange glances. "Well-" Nick clears his throat. "I mean-it's just surprising, that's all-I mean, obviously, it's fantastic you two get on-"

"We were just wondering if you'd like us to book the church, David, or if you'd prefer to do that part-"

George shoves his elbow into William's ribs and gets a glare in return. "It was Michael's joke!"

David rolls his eyes. "Is it too much to hope that you four could act like grown-ups for five minutes?"

George, William Danny and Nick turn to each other and seem to consider this suggestion for a few long moments before Danny turns back to David with a grin. "Yes."

David sighs, and, collecting his documents, stands up. "Come on. We're supposed to be working, if you can remember" he tells them, leading the three of them out of his office, wondering how he can explain to his cabinet that the Deputy Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Secretary to the Treasury are indeed taking the matters at hand very seriously when they and William are currently muttering something behind him that sounds distinctly like a chant of "Sitting in a tree..."

"Shut up" he says without looking round, which triggers an outbreak of what David can only describe as giggling. He keeps his gaze firmly forward even as behind him, four of the most important men in the country begin chanting a highly ungrammatical rhyme about baby carriages.

* * *

Ed watches awkwardly as Daniel sits, absorbed in his Lego tower, while Zia gently lowers Sam to the floor, murmuring in his ear.

"What are they doing?" he asks Zia awkwardly, with the vague feeling that he should probably already know.

"Playing" Zia says succinctly, carefully manoeuvring around Ed, to crouch down beside the boys, guiding Sam's hand to one of their toy cars.

Ed doesn't come down to the basement apartment, where the boys spend most of their time, often. He tells himself it's because he doesn't get home until late, so they're often in bed upstairs by the time he comes home or Zia's reading them their story, and so he doesn't want to interrupt. He sometimes tells himself he should come down in the morning before school, when Zia's giving them their breakfast, but something always seems to come up, somehow.

He bends down awkwardly to crouch by the boys, still in his suit. He reaches for one of their cars, but Sam yanks it back.

"Thorry" and Ed releases it immediately, even as Sam leans forward happily, only intent on grabbing his car back so he can have the fun of spinning it off again. He stares at them, wondering if he's meant to join in, to participate. He remembers suddenly, walking by Justine on the way to the conference centre a couple of years back, when he hadn't seen the boys all day and she'd only seen them for an hour, while Zia had taken them on a steam train, and he'd been scrabbling for questions to ask, hearing himself mumble things like "Was it really full, or was it-?" and wondering what precisely he was meant to find interesting about it.

"Yeah, no, it was really full" Justine had been saying, her voice a little overbright, her eyes a little too wide, her hand fastened a little too tightly around his and Ed had wondered if it was normal to want to pull his hand free a little. "But then, not only that, it was all these kind of engines and they go up and down, up and down-"

Ed had been listening to the words, dredging his chest for some kind of reaction. He wondered if that was why Justine had been dwelling on all these details too-trying to leak some interest from them.

"And then they had-" Justine had laughed slightly, as though she wasn't sure how to do it. "Fireman Sam-"

He'd been looking away bored and she'd felt him yank his hand slightly, a little too hard, so that he'd looked back towards her.

"And then, er-Forgetfulness Fred or something-and Engineer Eric-"

Ed's smile had been hurting a little.

"Showing them how to make steam engines-"

They'd been rounding the corner of the building and Justine's voice had carried on, too brightly. "And then Daniel sort of-" She'd laughed a little. "Burst into tears-"

It had taken a moment for the words to hit Ed and then he'd almost stopped, turning to look at her.

"Burst into _tears?"_ he'd asked, wondering for a moment if he'd heard her correctly, why she was still smiling.

Justine's smile hadn't changed. "Yeah-" She'd stood up a little straighter as they'd walked towards the building, that smile still fixed in place, as Ed had stared at her.

"But _why?"_ He'd meant why had his son burst into tears-he'd tried to remember what Daniel was afraid of and then wondered if he was supposed to know that automatically-but looking at her smile, he'd also meant why had she laughed.

"Well-" Justine had shifted slightly, her fingers reflexively loosening and then tightening in his. "I wasn't about to _ask _Daniel-but, erm-Zia said-sit him down-"

Something about those words had prickled slightly, but then one of the aides had been saying "Hello, Ed, you all right?" and he'd had to turn to greet her and by the time they'd got into the conference building and gone about the business of greeting other people, it had been easier not to bring the conversation up again, and they hadn't seen the boys again that evening or much the next day, and so it had seemed pointless to rehash it.

Now, Ed squints at the little T-shirt Sam's wearing over a long-sleeved top, emblazoned with a brightly-coloured cartoon character. He can't remember if that's Fireman Sam or not. On an impulse, he holds out his arms, wondering if he should give one of them a hug, though neither of them have offered one.

"Ith that Fireman Th-Sam, sweetie?" he asks, but his voice catches in his throat as he realises neither of them are even looking at him and instead, he falls silent, and watches Sam wriggle happily into the circle of Zia's arms, Daniel leaning against him, his little body shaking with laughter as Sam's car collides with his own and both go spinning off the track, locked tightly together.

* * *

_You have to admit the Labour NHS has not worked in Wales._

** _Good grief. I was wondering if you'd answer the message, since you never answer any of the questions._ **

_Are you aware of the concept of hypocrisy?_

** _Are you aware that the title is Prime Minister's Questions? The way you treat it, we'll be lucky if you're not the first Prime Minister sued under the Trade Descriptions Act._ **

_If that's the case, then we'll make history. The Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition Party being sued at once would be one for the history books. There are many terms that accurately describe Ed Balls but Shadow Chancellor is not one of them._

** _Cameron, that doesn't even make sense._ **

_I think to call yourself the Shadow Chancellor, you have to actually be effective._

** _This from the Prime Minister who refused to sack his Education Secretary for four years?_ **

_Break from the Coulson insults, then?_

** _I thought I should give you an opportunity to defend yourself._ **

_Remarkably considerate of you, Miliband._

** _Well, I thought I should give you the chance. To disappoint everyone again._ **

_Are you accustomed to doing that yourself?_

** _Is that your best line, Cameron?_ **

_What's your best line?_

** _It's certainly not massive David Cameron problem._ **

_You admit there's a problem?_

** _:(()(_ **

_What was that?_

_Miliband, was that an emoji?_

_Miliband, I think you need to become more proficient in this form of communication._

  
Ed glares at his phone. "Come on." He shakes it as the Guide of Emojiis appears with infuriating slowness on his screen. "Come on-how bloody difficult can it be to find a sticking-out tongue emoji-come _on..."_

* * *

"You do know it looks a little...strange" Nick mutters, as David heads down the corridor to Miliband's office once again

"Nick, it's not strange to have lunch with someone-"

"It is to text them for hours." This from George, accompanying Nick down to Portcullis House.

"We do not text for hours." David reminds himself quietly that it's the truth-they don't text for _hours._ One hour. Maybe two. Technicalities are important.

George blinks and then his face breaks into a wide smile. "Oh my-I was _joking._ You actually-"

"I said we don't, didn't I?"

George fixes him with a long stare. "Dave, you've got the same expression you had when you insisted that you and Nick were in total agreement over the tuition fees."

"We don't talk about that" Nick reminds him. "Like Coulson-gate."

David rolls his eyes. "Not you as well."

"As well?"

"You know how Miliband never stops going on about the Coulson-thing and now you-"

"So, you have-what-inside jokes?"

David turns to stare at George who is beaming back at him, the picture of innocence. That alone is enough to make the hair on the back of David's neck stand up.

"You do know we're in Westminster. I'm almost waiting for you to text me an LOL across a high school cafeteria-"

"You'd never reply, you'd be too busy texting Mili-"

David might be the Prime Minister but he's not above a quick elbow in the ribs.

* * *

  
Balls slams the coffee down on Ed's desk hard enough that Ed pulls the file out of the way hurriedly.

"There. I brought it" he announces, as though he's expecting a reward. Ed arches an eyebrow and takes the plastic cup slowly, resisting the urge to shove it back across the desk.

"And so diplomatically" he replies instead and Balls rolls his eyes.

"I know it's not sandwiches" he says and Ed closes his eyes, nodding at the expected jibe. Balls is smirking when Ed nestles his chin on closed fingers and lets his eyes fall shut. "Very amusing."

"It is." Balls takes a gulp of his own coffee. "Christ, I don't know how you can stand to be around the wanker for hours on end." He glances at Ed again over the coffee cup. "Then again, it is _you."_

"Thanks for that" Ed says drily. He can't quite guess where Balls is going with this, but he's still got his mind on a speech and he's only half-listening when Balls comes out with "Anyway, I'm sure you'll talk Cameron round at your little tea party."

Ed rolls his eyes. He checks his watch. Seventy-nine seconds. Not bad for Balls.

"Cameron's not like that" he says, and winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

Balls snorts. "Miliband, we are not in some fucking chick-lit novel."

Ed tugs at his collar, heat spreading rapidly up his neck. "I juth-just meant-" He rearranges the papers on his desk, just to have something to do with his hands "That Cameron's not-you know. Inhuman."

Balls snorts. "I've got to hand it to you, Miliband, you know how to make a compliment sound worse than an insult."

Ed tugs at the collar more fiercely now, almost popping the button open. "I meant it-"

"Oh, I know you _meant_ it." Balls is already waving the coffee cup, gesturing excitedly as he walks to the door. "That's the best bit. You've never heard a worse fucking compliment. _He's not inhuman."_ Balls wheels to deliver his final point as he swings the door open. "Christ, Miliband. I'd hate to see the way you do your wife a favour-what do you do, throw a toaster in her bath?"

Ed has a sudden urge to yell out that he could sack Balls in five minutes if he so wished but he takes the higher ground. After all, he's Ed Miliband. That's what he does.

Though a part of him has to wish that he didn't, sometimes. He'd show Balls _inhuman._

* * *

  
Several hours later, Ed has to admit that Balls is not the type who takes the higher road-at least, not judging by the way the man's currently bouncing up and down next to him.

Ed has to admit, glancing across the chamber at Cameron with his head ducked and his lips pressed together as he struggles not to burst into laughter, he feels a fleeting sense of solidarity with the Tories._(Very_ fleeting.)

Ed finds himself suppressing a grin as Cameron almost shoots out of his seat and even as Cameron speaks, Ed has to focus his attention on his papers to keep the grin off his face. They might eat lunch together but he's not going to start laughing at Cameron's answers at Prime Minister's Questions.

"His questions have just collapsed" finishes Cameron, and Ed almost sniggers at the Etonian twinge to the last word. He feels his lips twitch even as he manages to blurt out a comeback which isn't one of his best (walking through the lobby together? _Really?)_

He can't help but let his laughter break out as he says "One and a half parties" and Cameron's laughing too, which gives Ed a spike of perverse pleasure, even as Cameron's eyes lock with his and his teeth dig into his bottom lip at that smirk he's familiar with.

He'd never admit it but he enjoys this, a part of him, even as he and Cameron throw points back and forth at each other. Something in arguing with Cameron-over sandwiches, over the despatch box, over texts-has always felt a little like when Ed was small and David had climbed on top of his chest, holding him down and tickling him under the arms and chin and feet with Ed shrieking and begging his brother to stop and at the same time not wanting it to end.

Ed blinks. He's now comparing Prime Minister's Questions to tickle fights with his brother. Something is very definitely wrong.

But even as Cameron launches into his clipped, planned little retort which serves to perfectly spike Ed's anger, sharpening the words that are already fighting to climb out of his mouth, he can't entirely keep the grin off his face.

It fades as another memory, unbidden, flickers into life. He remembers thumping at David once, fighting to get his knee up into his brother's chest, still playful, still giggling, but a surge of something hard and hurting underneath, his fists knotting in the back of his brother's shirt, his thoughts drumming in time with his heartbeat_-Get off me, not a baby, not your baby, not-_

David's hands had been slowing but Ed's fists had just pounded and pounded harder and harder at his brother's back, until David's hands were suddenly slack on Ed's shirt, his eyes blinking too fast. "Ed-" and he'd grabbed his brother's wrists in one hand and forced them down, gasping for breath. "Stop it. You're going to kill me."

Ed can still remember the way his hands had fallen to his sides, his fists opening, the way he'd stared up at David, his chest suddenly empty and aching for breath. David's hands had loosened immediately but Ed can still remember the shock, like a hard punch to the chest, that he had been able to hurt his big brother.

* * *

  
David does not have any particular traditions for Halloween but one that he knows he would never have chosen would be carrying documents over to his political rival.

"You sure you don't want to join us?" Sam asks, lifting up Florence who blinks at him out of her tiny pumpkin costume. "We're heading to Michael's house afterwards, Bea's having a little Halloween party with the kids-"

David leans in and kisses the tip of her nose. "Watch it" Sam warns as Florence grins up at him. "You'll get green paint all over your lips."

"Why is her nose green?" asks Elwen through a Spiderman hood. "Pumpkins aren't green."

"It's meant to be a _stem_, you idiot."

"Nancy." Sam and David both speak at the same time. "Don't call your brother an idiot" David finishes and glances at Sam, who nods approvingly. David wonders if all mothers think their husbands need to be constantly reminded not to turn their daughters into little Daddy's girls who are still calling in favours from their parents when they're thirty-five, looking for their own children's nanny.

Nancy flounces past him in her black witch's dress. "You call people idiots."

Sam glares at him over Florence's head. David grits his teeth. "Sweetheart, I don't call people idiots, I have to tell them when they're wrong-"

"By calling them idiots?"

"I don't call them-"

"You called Mr. Balls a muppet-"

"OK, I think it's time we got going." Sam is hastening Nancy and Elwen towards the door, Florence's arms wound tight around her neck. "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"I've got to drop those documents off. I mean, I could get an aide to do it, but you know Miliband would just leap on that-" That part wasn't a lie.

Sam gives him a kiss on the cheek and he kisses each of the children and exclaims over each of their costumes before he watches them head out of the door surrounded by security. There's a faint twinge of regret as he watches them leave. David can't regret his career, not after all the work it's taken to get where he is, but it's time like this, knowing his children will have to walk slowly to meet up with Sarah, Bea and Will, surrounded by a trained protection team, that he wonders if one day Nancy, Elwen and Florence might look back and think that they paid too high a price.

Shaking his thoughts away from these dangerous waters-right now, he can barely afford to think past May-he turns to the table where the documents lie, the same ones he found lying on his desk this afternoon.

"Nick and I have signed these" he'd pointed out to Boris, who had popped in holding his bicycle helmet-they'd had a small conversation centering around cycling laws, Churchill and jellies, which is fairly normal for Boris.

Boris had already been busying himself fastening-or attempting to fasten-his cycling helmet. "Blasted-recalcitrant-perplexing bugger-" He'd smiled at David. "The helmet, not you, Dave. Did Miliband get his lot?"

David frowns. "Presumably." He'd pulled on his jacket to join Boris on the walk out of the building, enjoying the possibility of getting an hour alone with his children before they disappeared off to obtain sweets and be subjected to the witch's cackles Nancy and Bea had been perfecting.

Boris had shaken his head, finally succeeding in fastening the helmet. "When did you and Nick sign them?"

David had joined him in the corridor where several members of security were waiting. "Earlier this week, I think, Gavin brought them in for me-" He frowns. "Oh, for goodness sake, don't tell me-"

Boris had been wincing. "Dreadfully sorry, Dave, but I have to say, I think Miliband may conceivably have been neglected in the delegation."

After a moment of translating Boris-speak, David was sighing and rolling his eyes to the heavens. "How come?"

"Well, I did bump into him earlier-chap's always bumping into people-and he mentioned that he presumed the signatures were required in the next week, if I do remember correctly-"

David had stared at him. "You couldn't have told me this a few sentences ago?"

After a hurried conversation with an aide who had been dispatched to fetch more papers and a rather more heated conversation with Boris including the words "furore" "negligible" and "allegations of supine somnolence"-Boris had been brief today-David had been able to bid goodbye to his suitably appeased friend. Almost as an afterthought, Boris had tilted his head to the side.

"Nice chap, Miliband. For a Labourite. Bit of an odd egg, of course, but then who can't be forgiven a trifling of eccentricities?"

And with that, David had smiled as Boris clapped him on the shoulder and strode off down the corridor, fastening his helmet, pulling a Mars Bar out of his pocket and stopping as he reached the lift to exclaim "This tie is remarkably inadequate in length" at a glimpse of his own reflection.

David had turned to one of his aides, intending to instruct him to take the papers to Miliband's house (if he'd been thinking, he could have emailed them over himself but it was too late now.) He'd already been able to hear Miliband's voice in his head, eyes wide with the too-innocent look that he always adopts when he knows his point's hit home (David hates that expression. It always makes him want to wipe it off Miliband's face, especially when he himself is struggling not to laugh.)

But he'd stared at the papers for a moment, Miliband's voice, nasal and knowing, in the back of his head. _Obviously, Cameron, hand your jobs to the little people. Is that the first line in your election manifesto?_

David had gritted his teeth. _Shut up, Miliband._ And then suddenly, he'd been waving the aide away, telling them that he needed to discuss a political matter with Miliband anyway, and he'd tried to ignore the rather unsubtle sight of the aide's jaw dropping.

Now, he sighs, staring at the papers that lie on the table. There's no point postponing it; it will look even stranger if he turns up on Miliband's doorstep at eleven at night. So, trying hard not to think about how Miliband might react to the Prime Minister turning up on his doorstep, David dials the head of his security team. Sometimes, thinking on one's feet is less tactical than it sounds.

* * *

  
David isn't sure it's _done_ for a Prime Minister to linger, but he sits still when the car pulls up outside Miliband's house, wondering if he should have texted Miliband first. Then again, maybe Miliband's out. It's Halloween, after all. Miliband's forever talking about his time in America (David hasn't _tried_ to listen, he just _hears_ things.) In fact, if he's out, maybe he can just hand the documents over to one of Miliband's staff. In fact, that's probably _exactly_ what's going to happen.

He thinks of the jaw-dropping aide again and rolls his eyes. It's not as if he and Miliband have become blood brothers, for goodness' sake-they share lunches together, text a few times, so what, plenty of politicians do that, surely, even ones from opposing parties-and it's not as if he and Miliband are suddenly in agreement about everything, of course not-just yesterday, Miliband had half-thrown his purchased sandwich at him before launching into a criticism of net management, barely pausing for breath, and the two of them had spent the whole of the lunch hour arguing it out in David's office. The argument had been brought to an abrupt halt by Nick and Kate, popping their heads round the door with two identical grins as Nick announced that he was "Terribly sorry to interrupt but the two of you were due in a meeting ten minutes ago and it's getting rather boring to keep nodding and telling them that I'm sure you'll be along in a minute."

So maybe..._maybe_...he enjoys spending time with Miliband. Of course he enjoys debating-he's in the wrong career if he doesn't-and maybe-maybe he enjoys debating with Miliband and maybe-_maybe_-he sometimes finds Miliband's company...._interesting_ or....

But it's not as if they're constantly spending time with each other. It's not as if they turn up at each other's houses or-

David glances at Miliband's front door.

_Ah._

The driver's peering round at him now, his brow furrowed. "Is there anywhere else you'd like to go, Sir?" David thinks he catches the driver's eyes lingering on his mouth for a moment but when he blinks, the driver's watching him, expression implacable.

David swallows. Get it over with. "Here's fine" and after a few moments of thanks, David is out of the car and heading up the steps to Miliband's house.

What he hasn't expected is for a young woman and two little boys he recognizes to almost walk headlong into him.

"Oh-" The woman grabs both the boys' hands, righting them as they stare up at David, Miliband-eyes round and fixed on his own.

"Gosh, no, I'm-I'm so sorry-" One of the little boys-Daniel-stumbles and David's hand lands on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Daniel blinks at him. He nods and then, staring at David a little closer, a sharp giggle rises in his throat. It's cut off, though, when the woman bends and presses a kiss to his head. "Say thank you to Mr. Cameron, Daniel."

David shakes his head. "Oh, it's fine." He ruffles the little boy's hair and Daniel blinks up at him. "Thank you." He bites his lip with a little smile and then curls behind the woman's leg-David recognizes her now, vaguely, she's the nanny-dimples denting his cheeks.

  
She lifts lifts the other little boy, Sam, into her arms, one hand still ruffling Daniel's hair. "Ah-Prime Minister-"

  
"David's fine" he says quickly, holding out a hand and only realising at the last moment that both of the woman's are occupied.

"Zia" she says quietly, nodding in lieu of a handshake.

"I-um-I just had to deliver some documents for-" He struggles for a moment. "Mr Miliband" he finally settles on.

Zia's brow creases. "You have to-"

"Well, I was going to have an aide drop them off, but then I thought-I might as well-" David wonders how to make it sound as though dropping off documents at his political rival's house is something that a Prime Minister might conceivably do every day.

Zia's eyes are hovering at David's mouth and David frowns but before he can say anything, she indicates the still-open front door with her head. "Mr Miliband's inside, sir." She presses a kiss to Sam's head.

  
"Daddy tired." Sam greets David with a gummy smile, peering at him from round Zia's shoulder.

  
"Daddy's always_ tired"_ mutters Daniel, pressing his face into Zia's leg, frown crinkling his little face.

Zia says nothing, but the slightest frown passes over her face like a breeze, and she presses another kiss to Sam's hair, pulling Daniel in closer. "I'm sure you can go in."

  
As Zia and the boys wave from the gate, Daniel lisping "Bye, Mr. Cameron" and David's security team retreat to the car, he himself nervously steps into Miliband's house.

He's been here a number of times over the years, of course; for the birth of each of Miliband's boys, he'd even come with Sam and his own bearing gifts for each of the new babies. And he's certainly been to this street plenty of times-he glances at the house next door he's been in more times than he can count, wonders fondly if Ian's done anything for Iona this year, because she still loves the Halloween colours and lights. But this time-perhaps because Miliband isn't expecting him-it feels different.

  
He tugs nervously at the bottom of his jumper (nervously, why is he doing everything nervously) and tries to remember the last time he faced Miliband without a suit and tie.

"Hello?" he calls out. "Um-it's-um-" He vaguely wonders what on earth to introduce himself as. "It's the Prime Minister" is exactly the kind of greeting which Miliband would never let him forget.

There's a scuffle of movement and David turns towards the door. "Miliband?" he calls and there's another, louder scuffle.

David steps into the lounge rather apprehensively-the curtains are drawn and there's some kind of horror movie playing on the TV. David glances around, trying to ignore the music building ominously and the prickling at the back of his neck that's starting to make him wonder if he should have brought his security team with him after all.

"Miliband?" he manages again. The music falls silent and David glances back and forth, his heart hammering.

Then a horned head pops up from behind the sofa.

David yells out loud, his hands flying in front of his face; the head yells and falls backwards; and from the TV, a young girl's scream rips through the air, as though not wishing to be outdone.

"Cameron!" The head pops up and David reaches for the arm of the couch, wondering if his lungs have been damaged at all. He glances back at the door wondering if he's managed to summon security but apparently his screams-yells, he reminds himself firmly, not screams-weren't as loud as he feared.

Miliband straightens up, his eyes narrowed, and David stares at him. He blinks, then stares again.

Miliband is already scowling. "It'th not funny-"

David feels his lips twitch. "I know your party's policies are monstrous" he manages, struggling to keep his voice level. "But did you really need to dress yourself as a Satanic figurehead?"

Miliband glares as David collapses in laughter. The red horns on his head and tail attached to his shirt don't do much to make the image less amusing.

"I wathn't expecting visitors." Miliband throws himself down on the couch, as David leans on the arm, almost weeping with laughter. He has to admit, even without the documents, he's glad he dropped in on Miliband now. This one sight has just made the whole trip worthwhile.

* * *

  
Cameron _would_ have walked into his house on the one year Ed had chosen to do anything Halloween-related. (Of course he would. It's _Cameron. Good timing_ is as foreign a term to him as _poverty, equality_ and _facial hair.)_  
He yanks the horns off his head, glaring at them as if it's entirely their fault that Cameron decided to appear and catch him unawares. "It's for the kids" he snaps, as Cameron, still laughing-for God's sake, it's not that amusing-sinks down at the other end of the couch.  
Ed reaches behind him, fumbling for the tail, and then dives for Cameron. "Don't you dare take a picture" he barks, scrabbling for Cameron's phone, which the other man's holding up with a grin. Cameron catches it neatly, as Miliband knocks it momentarily out of his grasp and he's suddenly reminded of being thirteen, reaching desperately for his maths book_-Come on, Miliband, come and get it, come on, jump a bit higher-_while a crowd of Neanderthals chanted around him, hands shoving him in the back.  
_"Cameron-"_ The word comes out louder than he intends and Cameron frowns at him. "Calm down, Miliband" he says, showing him the locked phone screen before he shoves it away in his pocket. "It was a joke." His grin crawls back into view. "Like that costume."  
Ed sinks back against the couch. "Is this the newest Tory strategy?" he asks before Cameron can start laughing again or notice how rattled Ed was by the prank with the phone. "Break into the Leader of the Oppositon's house?"

"I didn't break in" says Cameron, who seems to finally be recovering a little. "Your nanny let me in."  
"Zia?" Ed turns, startled. Cameron nods. "She was heading out with your boys. We just bumped into each other on the steps."  
Ed lets his head fall back against the couch. Cameron's quieter now, his eyes flickering to the tail as Ed lets it drop to the floor, regretting he ever put the thing on.  
"I did call your name" Cameron points out. "Didn't you hear?"  
Of course he'd heard. He'd been crouched down, trying desperately to either remove the horns and tail or call the police before this became Murdoch's latest headline. He'd recognized Cameron's voice a second before he caught sight of him.  
"I thought the boyth might like it" he mutters, not adding that it hadn't worked as well as he'd hoped, and then turns to Cameron. "Why are you here?"  
Cameron withdraws a pile of papers from inside his suit and hands them to him. "You don't need to look at them now. Just documents to sign over the weekend. Nick and I got ours' earlier in the week."  
Ed shuffles the papers into a tidier order, shooting another glare at Cameron. He glances at the papers-then slowly moves his gaze back to Cameron. He frowns. Then he leans closer and stares.  
Cameron leans back. "Miliband, I know you're not the best judge of etiquette, but honestly, what are you doing?"  
Ed grins at him, any trace of annoyance over the horns and tail vanishing on the spot. He inspects Cameron's mouth again, this time at an even closer angle.  
"Cameron-" he starts and then his voice almost cracks as he fights to compose himself. "Cameron, why are your lipth green?"  
Cameron's mouth falls open and he immediately scrabbles for his phone. "What?" Any trace of laughter is gone from his face and he's already scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand.  
Ed's laughing now. The look on Cameron's face as he frantically searches for something on his phone makes every jibe about the horns and tail worth it as far as he's concerned.  
Cameron stares at his own reflection and Ed watches with no small amount of glee as Cameron's jaw drops.  
"Oh my-" He covers his lips frantically as if that might solve the problem "Oh my-Florence's make up, damn it-oh my God, why didn't Sam _tell_ me-"  
"Maybe she thought it was your colour-"  
"Oh, shut up." Cameron glares at him as Ed dissolves into another gale of laughter. "It's not even coming off-"  
"What do you expect? You're ath ineffectual with that thleeve as your cuts are with the economy-"  
Cameron looks ready to throw the phone at him and Ed decides right then that he's actually thankful that Cameron came by. At least, this has lightened up the evening.  
"I see you still haven't developed any familiarity with the term _gratitude"_ Cameron snaps, with a hand now groping in his pocket-"I come all the way over here-"  
"I'm sorry-" Ed holds up a hand, reaching for the packet of wet wipes Zia had been using, that she usually tells Ed or Justine when they need to replace. "Here-" He hands them to Cameron and Cameron pulls one out cautiously. "I appreciate it makes me look ludicrous but I haven't regressed to a three-year-old, Miliband."

"Obviously. No one would notice the difference, anyway."  
Ed gets another glare from Cameron and bites back the rest of his retort.  
"Oh, here" he says, snatching the wipe from Cameron, who's now dabbing away at his lips ineffectually. "I know you focuth on the top 1%, Cameron" he remarks, yanking himself further down the couch as he folds the wet wipe out. "But surely you're familiar with the purpose of wet wipes."  
Cameron glares at him and perhaps it's that that makes Ed lift his hand, some sudden desire to knock that look off Cameron's face that makes him lean in and wipe Cameron's mouth for him, carefully scrubbing at the green smears, trying not to notice how still Cameron has gone.  
"There" he says and lets his hand fall again, satisfied that the green has been successfully removed. His thumb brushes against Cameron's lip as he pulls back and they both jump. "Sorry-"  
"It's fine-" Cameron's voice is lower and for a second, they stare at each other, Ed chewing at his lip as Cameron watches him. Cameron's eyes are bluer than he remembers.  
Ed glances away hastily as Cameron raises a hand to his own lips. "Um. Thank you."  
Ed swallows and nods. Another long moment passes, the TV babbling away in the background, Ed's heart uncomfortably fast. He wonders, madly, if Cameron can hear it.  
Cameron swallows, opens his mouth, closes it again. "Can I ask you something, Miliband?" he says and Ed, frowning, nods. "Of course."  
Cameron's lips twitch and then his mouth breaks into a full smirk. "Are you planning to wear those horns to Prime Minister's Questions-"  
"Shut up, Cameron."  
Cameron's already laughing again. "I'm sorry. But really, you gave me such an opportunity-"  
"As if _you_ didn't-" Ed glares back at him, trying desperately not to feel his own lips twitching. "Are you planning to turn up to your next meeting with your lips painted green or will you be aiming for a full look next ti-"  
The lights flicker and then dim. Ed and Cameron's heads shoot back at the same moment as they stare at the ceiling, as the lights brighten momentarily then flicker and dim again.  
Ed just hears Cameron draw in a breath-one comment about the tail and he's being thrown out-when suddenly, the lights flicker rapidly twice, then flare once, too bright, making Ed shield his eyes, and then, every bulb at once goes out, and the room is plunged into blackness.

* * *

  
David would never admit it but he's not entirely dismayed when the lights go out. The last glimpse he had was of Miliband's smirk and now he swallows hard, trying to ignore his cheeks burning in the darkness. Even though Miliband's hand moved away moments ago, he can still feel the ghost of his thumb on his bottom lip.  
"What-" Miliband's voice splutters through the blackness. The TV's still glaring across the room, however, and David blinks at the light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Miliband's profile moves into view, his skin cast blue-white in the glow of the screen.  
Miliband turns towards him. "It must be a power cut."  
David rolls his eyes. "I know you're gifted with ignoring the obvious, Miliband, but even you can't have failed to notice that the TV's still on-"  
"Oh, for goodness'-"  
"You've probably blown a fuse-"  
"What?"  
_"You've probably blown a fuse."_ David fumbles for his phone, casts the light along the floor, tracking the way to the door. "Here, we need to check out the fuse box."  
"The what?"  
"Miliband, for someone who claims to be a man of the people, you really should have more of a grasp of basic household facts-"  
"Oh, this from the man who once expressed astonishment at an eight-year-old not liking Brie-"  
"This from the man who can barely use the coffee machine without sending the Commons up in flames-_ow!"_  
Miliband's voice comes from behind him again, sharper now. "Are you all right?"  
David winces, bending down to rub his knee. "Fine, fine, just walked into the door-"  
"Oh, crumbs-" and David has to bite his lip, torn between a desire to laugh and a strange tugging of warmth as Miliband stutters behind him. "I'm dreadfully sorry-are-are you sure you're all right-"  
"Oh-oh, yes-" David pulls the door towards them more gently this time and he and Miliband make their way into the hall.  
Something knocks against his ear and he shivers at the sound of Miliband's voice, closer than he expected, breath tickling the back of his neck. "Sorry, trying to find the light switch-"  
"Find it quicker than you'll find a sensible question in the dispatch box, will you-"  
"Oh, for God'th sake." There's a clicking sound, silence; Miliband's arm bumps David's shoulder and there's another muttered apology as the clicking continues, over and over.  
"Miliband, I'm no expert but I'd hazard a guess that the lights currently aren't working."  
"And Cameron, that diplomathy is why your approval ratings drop further each week."  
"Oh, for-" David lifts his phone and Miliband blinks as the light shines directly into his eyes. "We need to find your fuse box."  
Miliband blinks again and David's about to ask if he's sure he knows how to climb upstairs at the end of the day when Miliband says "Oh-oh yeth, it should be under the stairs, I suppose-"  
The bannister provides a guide to the small door-there's another next to it, presumably leading to the basement-and David steps inside gingerly, lifting his phone to illuminate the cupboard. He squints at the small box on the wall.  
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Cameron?"  
David turns to stare up at Miliband. "Do _you_ have any idea?"  
It's hard to tell with the light of the phone screen but David's fairly sure Miliband's blushing. "As much as you."  
David rolls his eyes. "Oh, fantastic" he says, turning grimly to the fuse box. "I mean, with just rooting around with a few electric wires, what on Earth could go wrong?"  
Miliband is pouting, David can guess without even turning round. "Do _you_ know what to do?"  
David grits his teeth. "Of course." He begins scouring his memory for any knowledge of fuse boxes. "First, you-you-move the thingie-"  
"Oh, well, that's brilliant, Cameron-you clearly mithed your calling. Mark of true expertise, usage of the technical term, _thingie-"_  
David clenches his jaw and glares at the fuse box. Behind him, Miliband's voice continues. "Followed by the complex and valued prothedure of th-slack-jawed observing-"  
"I'm doing you a favour." David's just about to scramble upright and demand Miliband take a turn when his hand collides with the box, his fingers open and the next thing he knows, the phone has dropped and vanished from view.  
David stares at the floor, which he can no longer see. "Oh no."  
Miliband snorts. _"Oh no?_ That'th all? We're completely _blind_, Cameron-"  
"Miliband, I know facts aren't your strong point, but we're hardly _blind._ We just-currently have no source of light." David reaches out and his hand closes on something, which he uses to steady himself. "I'm not going poking around a fuse box when I can't even see what I'm doing."  
"You don't usually have a problem poking around figures you have no idea about-"  
David's about to reply (because really, from a _Labourite?)_ but he's distracted when two things happen at once; he becomes aware of just how close Miliband's voice is and the thing he's holding onto moves.  
"Um-" And then something warm bumps into David's chest and it's right then that he realises that the thing his hand's been resting on for the last several minutes is Miliband's elbow.  
David yanks his hand back as if he's been burnt. "Oh-oh, God-sorry-"  
"Um-it'th quite all right-" Miliband's babbling next to him and David's just grateful for the dark.  
"Um-" and now he's all too strongly aware that he and Miliband are standing in a small cupboard and that he's close enough that he can almost feel Miliband's body heat. "I think we should-um-" His hand brushes Miliband and they both jump. He swallows. How the hell can he be able to manage the country through a bunch of riots but barely be able to guide himself and Miliband out of a cupboard? He remembers Blair and Brown's story about the bathroom and wonders grimly if they'll have one to rival it.  
_Focus._ "I think we should get back to the living room. I mean-there's the TV there and the French doors and we'll be able to see-" He could always go next door and ask Ian for help, but he doesn't know if it'll be a bad night for Iona and he doesn't want to risk startling her.  
"Yes-oh, yes of-of course-" Miliband pushes the door open and they both step forward at the same time which results in him and Miliband being crammed up against one another in a doorway that was most definitely not built for two.  
"Oh-gosh-" David manages to extricate himself, with a hand on what he prays is Miliband's arm. "Um-"  
"Th-sorry-" Miliband's voice is muffled and David fixes his eyes on the floor and tells himself that's just the best way to stay upright.  
He thanks God that the hallway is short but after only a few steps, he's holding his hands out in the manner of someone who's recently lost his sight.  
"I know sense isn't a common concept for most Tories but it would be more logical for me to go firtht." David jumps at Miliband's voice, breath skating over the back of his neck.  
"I know Labour doesn't make a point of thinking things through" he hisses. "But I have to point out, _you_ won't be able to see either."  
Miliband makes an impatient noise and David feels their elbows brush as Miliband steps round him so that he's now leading the way.

"Where are you now?"  
_"Here."_ Miliband snaps the word from somewhere directly in front of him and David resists the urge to jab the nearest part of the other man he can reach. "Where's _here?"_  
Miliband mutters something that sounds like _"Torieth"_ and then says "Stick out your hand."  
"What?"  
"Your _hand_, Cameron, put out your hand-"  
David tentatively sticks out his hand and his grip clutches at material and then warm fingers closing around his own-Miliband's fingers, Miliband's hand and they squeeze David's own, none too gently, but David squeezes back before he can stop himself.  
"Here" says Miliband and David follows him, fingers now wrapped around Miliband's wrist, the same hands he sometimes finds himself watching at Prime Minister's Questions with some amusement, as Miliband jabs a finger into the air or waves his hands around like an excited schoolchild. Miliband's fingers are still brushing his own when they end up back in the living room, the TV still glowing, spilling light across the carpet.  
With the help of the TV screen, David can make out Miliband's face more clearly now. "We need to find a torch" he says and Miliband blinks, as if jerked out of a dream. "I mean, you could probably get someone in to fix it tomorrow-but in the meantime-at least it's not everything-"  
Miliband nods. "Yes-yeah-um, I thuppothe our cleaner would probably know what to do-she usually hires-um-"  
David glances at him. "Miliband. Have you ever dealt with a power cut before?"  
"I know you don't remember the thimplest promises you make Cameron, but you juth-just said it wasn't a power cut-"  
"Trying to help you, Miliband. We should probably get a few more lights in here-"  
Someone screams. David jumps and against him, he feels Miliband jump too, as both of their gazes fly to the TV screen, where a young girl lies flat on her back, screaming.  
David presses his hand to his chest. "Dear God-"  
Miliband exhales shakily, his fingers digging into David's hand harder.  
His fingers-  
They both glance down and let go at the same time, Miliband taking several steps back, rearing away from each other as if they've been scorched. Miliband opens his mouth and closes it again. "I-I-thorry-I-"  
David cuts him off before he can babble any further apologies. "Do you-have you got a-torch or something-"  
"Oh. Oh, right. Yes-" Miliband glances behind him and takes a step towards the door. "In the kitchen, yes-"  
"Do you have any-um-candles, anything that glows in the dark, you know-" David can't see the expression on Miliband's face and right now, he's rather grateful.  
"Um-we might have some candles-we don't really uthe them-"  
"Great. Er-how about you find a torch and I try to find a couple of candles-just for-you know-a bit of light until it's all fixed-"  
"Yeth. That-that would be-" Miliband falters and David waits for the typical crack about _Prime Minister's Orders_, but instead, Miliband just says "Thank you." His voice is softer than usual, as he jerks his head in an awkward nod before he turns and heads for the kitchen. David shakes his head, watching him go with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and only after he's been standing there for a few moments does he realise he's been watching Miliband with something that could almost be described as _fondness._  
He shakes his head. Hard. _Fondness. Miliband._ The words definitely do not go together.  
David takes a look around. Then again, he probably shouldn't be in Miliband's house, either, but here he is.  
He sighs and heads for what looks like a set of drawers and pulling open the first one, he begins rooting around for anything that looks as if it could give them some light.  
"Um-I found thith-" There's a sudden glare of light and David turns to see Miliband standing in the doorway holding a torch. David stares as he moves into the glow of the TV screen and his gaze flickers to Miliband's feet-which he notices for the first time, are bare.  
Miliband follows his gaze and swallows, crossing his arms over his chest so the beam of the torch wavers wildly. "I wathn't exactly expecting visitors" he says, a touch waspishly, and David feels his smirk grow. "Miliband, you do know it's Halloween?"

He can't be sure in the dark but he'd guess that Miliband is rolling his eyes. "Cameron, I know it's a shock to you but others are in tune with the public'th interetht. We jutht don't get a lot of trick-or-treaters-I suppose your door is practically battered down each year."  
David snorts, withdrawing two small candles from the middle drawer. "Surprisingly, not many children walk down Downing Street. Not when I'm there, anyway."  
Miliband makes a sound remarkably like a snort. "The next generation really are the hope for the future."  
"I am currently holding a candle, Miliband-"  
"And _I'm_ currently holding a match." With that, Miliband reaches forward and lights the candle. They both pull back as the flame flickers into life. Miliband takes the candle gently from David and lays it on the table, before turning back for the next one.  
"Your boys were loyal, by the way." When Miliband squints at him over the flame, David adds "They didn't tell me that their father was currently dressed as Beelzebub, I mean."  
Miliband raises an eyebrow. "They were probably hoping you'd get to see for yourself." He sighs and sinks down on the couch, gaze wandering vaguely to the screen. "It's not often that they see their daddy dressed up" he adds, almost as an afterthought, tugging absent-mindedly at the sleeve of his jumper. "I don't think they notithed much."  
Candles completed, David takes a seat next to him. "Apart from every day, when you wear the guise of a competent politician."  
Miliband shoots him a look that's half glare, half wide-eyed surprise and David winces. "Sorry" he says, without thinking. "That was uncalled for."  
Miliband's eyes widen even more. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then finally manages "It'th fine."  
For a moment, both of them simply sit there, torch held tight in Miliband's hand and the candles flickering around them. As the moment stretches out between them, David clears his throat. "They're sweet. Your boys, I mean."  
Miliband watches him but his expression's unreadable in the dark. "Thank you. They-" He swallows, carefully straightens the torch. "I think they were dithappointed. Tonight."  
David chuckles. "So were mine. Of course, Nancy was disappointed that I didn't dress up as Frankenstein. Which she suggested would be a visually accurate costume for me."  
Miliband is smirking again now. "I admire your daughter's intellect."  
David sighs. "She'd be thrilled. At least, you donned some devil horns."  
Miliband groans. "They weren't hugely impressed. And I'm forever hearing about how all their friends' daddieth dress up on Halloween."  
"Don't you tell them their daddy's too busy saving the country from those evil Tories?"  
Miliband's lip twitches. "Good to see you're being honest with yourthelf, Cameron."  
"You could learn some tips, Miliband."  
Miliband shakes his head, picks up the torch and shines it into David's face.  
"Ow! Do you mind?" David knocks the torch away with one hand and tries to glare at Miliband. "Then again, that _is_ about as articulate an argument as you make most of the time-"  
Miliband glares at him. "You do know you're inthulting me in my home, Cameron?"  
"You do know you're insulting your _guest_, Miliband?" David glances round the room. "You think you'll be able to fix it?"  
"I don't know." A shadow of concern crosses Miliband's face. "I mean, I suppose we'll have to call an electrician but the cleaner should know-I don't know much about electronics-"  
David can't comment on this as electronics aren't his strong point, either. He points at the screen. "What's this?" he asks, and Miliband glances absent-mindedly.  
"Oh. Um-The Exorthitht, I think. I supposed I might as well get in the Halloween spirit-"  
David looks at Miliband in his jumper and jeans with bare feet, huddled in a pitch-black living room, looking thoroughly miserable.  
"I always liked this film" he says, without thinking. "They showed it on late-night TV. I was far too young. Watched it with my brother and nearly passed out."  
Miliband glances at him with a smile beginning to creep across his lips. "Confused about the differenthe between fantathy and reality, Cameron?"  
"Good preparation for thirteen years of the Labour government, Miliband."

Miliband smirks and after a moment, reaches forward and pulls a bowl off the table which he awkwardly holds out to David. David reaches out and takes a piece of what he quickly realises is popcorn. "Thanks." He pops it in his mouth.  
Miliband places the bowl between them on the couch and David sneaks a curious look at him. The fingers of Miliband's other hand are biting into a cushion, his eyes resting on the screen.  
"I should probably let Sam know-" David drags out his phone and it's only when he's halfway through typing a text message that he realises that he's just effectively told Miliband that he'll stay.

* * *

  
Ed would never have admitted it to anyone, especially David bloody Cameron, but Halloween has never been his favourite holiday. He still has unfortunate memories of the year of seventh grade, when it turned out no one in his Boston neighbourhood had known who Karl Marx was or why Ed had chosen to dress as him for trick-or treating.  
He's also still got unfortunate memories of his history teacher insisting on him bringing the fake beard in so he could point out how original and "historically relevant" Ed's costume was in front of the whole class which had led to Ed learning the exact definition of a swirlie.  
That was only part of the problem, however.  
"Miliband, are you OK?" Ed can't decide if Cameron's concern is aggravating or considerate, but he's too busy trying to look as though he is perfectly relaxed at the sight of records flying around a child's bedroom.  
"Fine" he manages to get out before a door slams on the screen and he feels himself tense, his fingers digging into the cushion.  
Cameron glances at him and this time, there's a definite smirk hovering at his lips. "Miliband, I know Labour have trouble with fiction but you must realise it's just a film-"  
"Hilariouth-" Ed can't sum up a better comeback than that-he's too busy staring at the screen, fighting the urge to raise his nails to his mouth.  
Cameron's still smirking. "Miliband, you do know it's a story. The definition of a story is-"  
Something bangs on screen and Cameron jumps so violently he almost knocks the popcorn bowl off the couch. It's Ed's turn to smirk. "Go on, Cameron. I believe you were saying something amusing."  
Cameron glowers at him and shoves his hand back in the popcorn bowl. "Was that a novelty for you?"  
"When it'th coming from you, yes."  
Cameron glares at him and Ed turns back to the screen, reaching into the popcorn bowl without thinking so his hand ends up brushing against Cameron's.  
"Thorry-" Ed snatches his hand back, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks, along with a surge of gratitude for the fuse blowing.  
He can't look at Cameron but his voice is a little muffled when he says "It's fine" a few seconds too late. Ed risks a glance at him a few moments later and catches Cameron's eyes, bigger and bluer than Ed is used to in the torchlight. They stare for a minute, their eyes catching onto each other, then both glance away, returning their gazes firmly to the TV.  
It's ridiculous. Cameron's been in his house before. Cameron's sat on the same couch as him before. Cameron's held his _sons_ before. There is nothing strange about the current situation.  
Apart from the fact they're currently both sitting on the sofa, watching a horror movie, with the lights off. And popcorn.  
And candles.  
There's another shriek on-screen and Ed feels himself tense. This time, Cameron definitely catches him and there's no way Ed can deny it.  
"Miliband, exactly why do you watch horror films if you hate them?"  
"I'd expect them to be right up your thtreet, Cameron, what with your political record."  
"If that was the case, we'd be the milder sequel to Labour's disaster movie."  
"You do know thequels are universally regarded as inferior, Cameron?"  
"You do know you're avoiding the question?" Cameron's watching him now rather than the film and Ed glares back at him. He hates it when Cameron's right. He hates it even more when Cameron knows he's right.

"And of course we all know how much _you_ despise that sort of tactic-"  
"Cameron, have you ever heard of the word _tact?"_ But the retort lacks any real venom and Ed knows it.  
Cameron's voice is softer, now. "Really, why?"  
Ed swallows. "I...don't know. I just-" He swallows, takes a deep breath. "I've never been much of a Halloween fan" he admits slowly. "I-um-well-the boyth-boys always want me to go trick-or-treating and since I can't, I thought, well-I had to promithe-promise them I'd do something at least vaguely in the holiday thpi-spirit." He feels himself tense but Cameron makes no reaction. "Just so they could have something to talk about, rather than how their dad's at work all the time-" He tries for a laugh but the words fall flatter than he expected.  
"Miliband-" Cameron swallows."Your children-they might find it hard right now, but one day-one day they'll understand. You're doing all this-" Cameron shoots him a look. "And don't take this as me agreeing with your methods-but you're doing all this to give them a better world."  
Ed nods. "I hope they do. It's juth-just-" He swallows. "My dad always made sure he had the time to talk to us, you know-teach uth things, help us out-and I want to be-well, at least as good a dad as he was." Well, he did with academics, at least, and that's what mattered.  
"Of course you do." Cameron's voice is almost gentle. _(Gentle. Cameron.)_   
"I hope you're right." Ed tries for a smile. "For onthe."  
"Well, I'm a Tory. We're always right." Ed's mouth is already open, an incredulous remark forming when Cameron grins, dimples denting his cheeks, and Ed realises that it was in fact, Cameron's attempt at a joke. (Which may have been marginally less terrible than usual.)  
Cameron's still watching him, and Ed swallows. "I suppose you always loved Halloween" he remarks, struggling to make the remark sound acidic and failing to find the will.  
"Not particularly" Cameron surprises him by admitting. "I mean, it wasn't made much of back then, you know, in the UK but you know-" He picks at the end of his sleeve. "There were a few occasions in horror movies when I didn't fare so well."  
"When you say didn't fare so well, you probably weren't forthed to learn the definition of a th-swirlie."  
Cameron tilts his head to the side, automatically bringing his hand up to his face. Ed bites back a grin, seeing Cameron grasp momentarily for the pen he usually brings to his mouth or the glasses he fidgets with whenever someone's managed to successfully confuse him.  
He sighs, and with his eyes firmly fixed on the screen and in a decision he has no doubt he will thoroughly regret at some future stage, recounts the swirlie story, keeping the details as brief as possible. Cameron laughs, which Ed expected.

"I'm glad my thchoolday intimidation provides you with some kind of amusement, Cameron" he says, struggling to sound more aloof than usual and Cameron holds up a hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, God, that's awful-" He shakes his head. "Kids can be cruel" he says, another, gentler laugh breaking through. "God, Miliband, I'm sorry. You-God, I have to say I didn't have...much experience with that sort of thing, myself."  
"Bullingdon" mutters Ed and Cameron smiles ruefully. "I never subjected anyone to that, Miliband."  
"Congratulations. Neither did I." Ed pauses for a moment and then mutters "Not that I'd have got the chanthe, anyway."  
Cameron laughs and Ed can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth.  
There's a creak, this time from behind them, and Ed jumps, glancing back nervously, reminding himself that it's just a floorboard, it's just a house settling, it's just a-  
"Don't worry, Miliband. It's probably just the ghost, clawing for vengeance through the walls-" Cameron pretends to claw at the back of his neck.  
"In plans that thrilled the nation-" Ed keeps his eyes on the TV screen as he speaks. "Prime Minithter David Cameron announced that from now on, he would be focusing leth on his leadership duties to allow himself to dedicate more time to his true passion of drething up in a sheet and jumping out at memberth of the populace."  
Cameron's hand jumps behind him at the same time the TV begins chanting Latin and Ed rolls his eyes. "Cameron-"  
There's another scream and he grabs a cushion before he can think about it. He waits for another remark from Cameron but when he glances to his right, he sees Cameron's fingers are digging into a cushion of his own, face a little paler than usual in the glow of the TV screen.  
"So much for it juth-just being me who doeth-doesn't like horror films" Ed mutters and Cameron rolls his eyes. "Miliband, I know Labour enjoy projecting their issues onto everybody else-"  
The girl shoots up from the bed on the TV and Ed's heart almost breaks through his ribs at the yells he realises too late are coming not only from the TV but from his own mouth. There's a thud, which Ed dimly realises is the popcorn bowl falling to the floor, which he's knocked off the couch when-  
It's at that moment that Ed realises that the shriek now dying away is coming from next to him. And that he can feel two heartbeats pounding at his own chest. And that he's a lot further along the couch than he was a few moments ago. And that his hands are clutching at a jumper that is definitely not his own.  
Someone's hands are pressed tight on his back, arms around his shoulders, breath harsh and hot in the air as they cling onto each other.  
It's right then that Ed realises that he and David Cameron have grabbed hold of one another. And that Cameron's cheek is currently pressed right against Ed's forehead, unexpectedly warm skin against Ed's own. And that neither of them has let go.  
Ed might have been able to convince himself earlier that this situation, while unusual, doesn't quite qualify as strange. The moments of being able to convince himself of that, he realises with a sudden grim certainty, are now over.  
Ed feels David tense at the exact same moment that he does and they both pull back at once, both their mouths fighting over frantic apologies.  
"I-God, I didn't mean-sorry, Miliband-" Cameron's blushing, visible even in the dark which Ed would thoroughly enjoy any other time but right now, sadly, is the last thing on his mind.  
"I-it'th fine-I-I mean-I-I'm thorry-" Ed closes his eyes in agony. _Shut up_, his brain screams but his mouth keeps going with a life of its' own. "I didn't mean-"  
"No, no, it's-fine." Cameron's tugging at his shirt collar and Ed winces, remembering that just a moment before, his head had practically been buried in Cameron's neck.  
He sneaks an anxious look at Cameron. In the darkness, he can't read Cameron's expression but he catches the other man's eyes darting to his own a few times, glancing away each time he catches Ed staring back.

"I-um-" Ed bends down and lifts the popcorn bowl from the floor for something to do with his hands. He's only been fumbling around, lifting popcorn pieces from the carpet for a few moments, however, when he feels something brush his forehead and then Cameron is carefully sliding down from the couch to kneel next to him, picking up popcorn with one hand and tugging at his collar with the other.  
"Here, let me help-"  
"It'th fine-"  
"No, no, honestly-" Cameron's head is bent, his hands an inch from Ed's and Ed feels the heat flare in his cheeks. He's not used to being this close to Cameron, and it's a little odd. It's odd for being so close and it's odd for not making him as uncomfortable as it should.  
Cameron might not have been shocked to realise Ed doesn't live in his work clothes, but Ed has to admit, something jolts in his chest at seeing Cameron looking the way he does now, in a loose, button-down shirt under a jumper, his hair-what he's _got_ of hair-rumpled up-  
And obviously, combing Ed's carpet for bits of popcorn.  
Cameron lifts his head and a stand of his hair brushes Ed's forehead. "Oh-" Ed leans back a little but Cameron stays still, eyes roving down Ed's face. Ed swallows hard.  
"What?" he asks when a few moments have passed in silence as Cameron stares at him. The word comes out softer than he expected.  
Cameron blinks once, then several times. "Nothing" he says and he stands up quickly, lifting the bowl with him. "Just remembering the last time I had to do this-Nancy had a sleepover a few weeks back-popcorn was being hoovered up for days-"  
Ed stares at him as he himself straightens up, his lips unexpectedly dry. Cameron grabs the torch-which has clearly spun wildly during the jumping, its' beam now pointing somewhere up at the ceiling. "Here-" Cameron aims it at the carpet with that self-satisfied grin that usually leaves Ed scrambling for any argument, any insult, which can wipe that look off Cameron's face.  
Cameron sits back on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, and Ed, groping for words, settles on the first he finds. "You must have a lot of practice from cleaning up your policieth."  
"All Tories get a lot of practice from cleaning up Labour's messes."  
"Go on, Cameron-I believe you were saying something unprethedented."  
"I usually am."  
Ed turns to stare at him. "Really, Cameron? Really?"  
Cameron sighs. "Miliband, I know you're unfamiliar with basic facts, but even you must realise that usually when people make a statement, it's because it's what they actually mean."  
Ed stares at him. "Firthtly, you're a _politician._ Thecondly, I thintherely hope that statement was ironic-"  
"Well, in your case, it would have to be, but-"  
"No, what's ironic is the thame man who put up tuition fees and had his Deputy apologizing for every falthe statement he ever made having the nerve to criticize every thtatement Labour make-" On-screen, the girl's lying on the floor screaming, but Ed's got his eyes fixed on Cameron, a wave of relief washing over him at the sheer familiarity of it, that this is something he _knows_ with Cameron, something he's used to-"What'th ironic is that the man who should really have the words _broken promise_ as his election byline-"  
"You've got popcorn in your hair."  
"Having the nerve to accuse-" Ed blinks. "What?"  
Cameron's lips twitch as the torchlight touches his face. "Right there at the side." He indicates on his own head and Ed glares at him, frantically combing his fingers through his hair, cursing the popcorn, the bowl, the film, and David bloody Cameron all at once.  
"Oh, for God'th-" His fingers tangle in his hair and he glares at the bowl on the table, wishing he'd never started watching the stupid film.  
"Here" and Cameron's reaching towards him before Ed knows what's happening, his fingers tangling gently in Ed's hair, brushing his scalp as he carefully slides the piece loose. "There." Cameron drops the popcorn on the table but then his hand moves back to Ed's hair and smooths it back into place. "Gosh, it's a mess now-" Cameron's still grinning but his voice is lower and even though Ed can't be sure in the dark, it looks as though there's a faint tinge of colour in his cheeks. Ed opens his mouth, fumbling for words, as Cameron pats his hair back into place.

"Thankth." Ed notes vaguely that he seems to be spending a lot of time this evening thanking Cameron right after throwing an insult at him.  
"Yes-well-nothing worse than getting something stuck in your hair. I learnt that the first time I watched this film." Cameron winces. "Getting gum stuck in your hair can be a real problem when you have no explanation as to how it got there-"  
"I'm trying to dethide what's more surprising, you living up to your Compathionate Conservative title or the fact you actually had hair."  
"I could have pointed out that popcorn was particularly easy to spot, Miliband, since it was in a patch of hair that is losing its' colour. Much like your policies-"  
And they're back on familiar ground. "We should look on the bright thide, then, Cameron. At least our policies had thome colour to lose-"  
Cameron's already got his mouth open to reply when there's a sound from the hall, a thud.  
Cameron pauses, mouth open, to stare at Ed. "What's that?"  
"You do know I can't see through _walls_, Cameron-" There's another thud, against the wall this time, and Ed jumps, eyes flickering to Cameron's suddenly wide gaze.  
"What was that?" This time, it's Ed asking and Cameron grins. "You do know I can't see through _walls_, Miliband-"  
There's another thump and Ed feels his heart thudding against his ribcage.  
"It could be-the house thettling-settling, I-"  
"Miliband, Labour cannot be this distant from reality, houses do not _thump-"_ Cameron's voice is cut off by another thudding sound and this time Ed isn't the only one who jumps.  
"It's really never occurred to you to hire some security, Miliband?" Cameron hisses, too close to Ed's ear and Ed grits his teeth.  
"No, Cameron, th-strangely, my first idea was not to hire a security team to protect me from the horrorth of witnething someone retheiving unemployment benefits-"  
_"Really_, Miliband, you want to have that debate _now-"_  
There's another thud and Cameron almost jumps out of his skin. "Dear God-"  
"Oh, tho you are afraid of horror films. That's fantathtic, Cameron, it's those kindth of promises that are keeping your government running smoothly-"  
"You're unbelievable, Miliband. You're the-what would you be doing if there was a _plane_ going down or a ship was sinking, would you just stand there and complain about the inequality of the people who built the lifeboats-God, you probably _would-"_  
"I know you like to distanthe yourthelf from reality, Cameron, but-but-you know we are not _on_ a-haunted plane-or car or lifeboat or-"  
"Fantastic line, Miliband. Haunted plane, that'll be your next brilliant comeback at PMQs-and the Right Honourable Gentleman wants to debate the existence of ectoplasmic aviation-"  
Ed feels the blood rushing to his cheeks. His heart is pounding hard enough to hurt and he can't believe that this might be how he's spending the last minutes of his life-clutching a cushion in a pitch-black room with pieces of popcorn scattered around the floor, debating David Cameron about the probability of the existence of ghosts.  
"I mean, I would personally suggest an explanation that doesn't sound _insane-"_ Cameron breaks off as there's a thud on the wall. "Dear God, what are we going to do?"  
Ed stares at him. "You do know you're meant to be the perthon the country looks to in life-threatening situations?"  
Cameron glares at him but before he can reply, the door creaks once-a long, drawn-out creak that leaves Cameron staring at Ed, eyes wide. Ed fumbles behind him for something, anything, that he can use as a weapon. "OK-" His fingers close around something and he holds it up between them. "We've got thith-"  
Cameron stares for a very long moment and Ed follows his gaze slowly down to his own hand, grasped firmly, weapon-like, around a remote control.  
"Oh, that's-that's brilliant, that's _fantastic_-what are we going to do with _that_, Miliband, _mute_ it to death?"  
_"You_ come up with a better suggestion-" Ed's fingers are wrapped so tight around the remote control that his hand is shaking (and that is the _only_ reason his hand is shaking.)  
  
"Oh, well, I'm sure it's putting an ample amount of reconsideration into its' whole assassination plan _now-"_ The door creaks again and Cameron's fingers fasten on Ed's sleeve.  
"Yeth, Cameron. The athathin who chose to carry out his attack in front of the television, it's well-known as a highly dangerouth location-"  
"I suppose it beat Labour headquarters on that list-"  
"Oh, _shut up, Cameron."_  
As Ed hisses the words, the door creaks again and this time, Ed's fingers fasten around Cameron's sleeve.  
"Don't worry, Miliband. I'm sure all you have to do is flick the off switch and whatever it is will evaporate into thin air."  
Ed almost smacks him with the remote control. "I know we should all be uthed to your lack of consideration from the way you run the country-"  
"You do know I could give you up to this thing, anytime, Miliband-"  
The door creaks again and this time it doesn't stop-it keeps moving, slowly into the room, a chink of yellow torchlight spilling across the carpet. Cameron's hand tightens round Ed's sleeve and Ed doesn't pull away as a long black shadow stretches down the middle, a figure that slowly moves into the doorway. Cameron's eyes meet his in the dark and Ed swallows, his heart pounding almost painfully. He hears a sound from his throat that sounds suspiciously like a whimper and his hand tightens on Cameron's sleeve.  
The figure stops dead, black in the middle of the light, and says "Boo."  
Or at least, that's what Ed thinks it says. The sound is somewhat muffled by the distinctly shriek-like sounds coming from his and Cameron's mouths, the sound of a remote control hitting the wall and a noise that's remarkably like high-pitched laughter.  
The voice is muffled due to someone's arms currently being wrapped around Ed's head and but it is not the voice of a wall-thumping demon and actually bears a remarkable similarity to the voice of his son.  
"Did you watch a scary film?"  
Ed waits a few moments before he raises his head to see Zia standing in the doorway, lips twitching, the two little boys, still clad in full Halloween regalia, both helpless with laughter, and Cameron's eyes fixed on his own, with an expression that suggests they're both coming to the same slow, excruciating realisation that they might just, possibly, maybe have been completely had.  
Cameron's eyes are remarkably clear in fact, as they're only a few inches above Ed's own. And-Ed glances down slowly, as the truth dawns on him-the truth that the sheer terror of a slowly moving door has apparently proved so traumatizing that he has ended up with his head buried in Cameron's shoulder.  
And with Cameron's arms around his shoulders.  
And with Cameron's hands in Ed's hair, his body arched protectively over Ed's chest.  
They both pull away at the same moment, their arms tangling together as they struggle to prop themselves upright. Ed turns to the nanny, already tripping over his explanation. "I can-this-I can explain-"  
The boys are sniggering, Cameron is glaring and Zia is watching them both and slowly, slowly shaking her head with a sigh. "I look forward to the story."  


* * *

  
David is not a betting man but if he was, he would, in the past, have put substantial money on no Halloween night turning out quite like this.  
He glances up over his cup of tea to find a small pair of round, blue eyes fixed on his own.  
"If you're the Prime Minister" Daniel says, his little voice very solemn, "Does that mean you can send my daddy to jail?"  
David smiles at the concern in the little boy's eyes as he stares up at David, blinking anxiously as he waits for the answer. The children are still bubbling at the fact that the lights were out and they've been studying David for the last several minutes with no small amount of curiosity. David's phone is also safely back in his hand, Zia having braved the dangers of the cupboard to retrieve it. Whilst inside, she had also taken the opportunity to turn the lights back on, having located a rather obvious switch that, when Miliband had gawped at it, she had pointed out quietly that it had always been there.

"No" David says, with a smile. "I won't send your daddy to jail. I promise."  
Daniel frowns. "Daddy says you're a To-too-"  
"Tory?"  
Daniel nods. David smiles. "Well-yes. I am."  
Daniel frowns again. "Daddy says you can't trust Too-too-Tory promises."  
Miliband is in the middle of taking a gulp of tea when his son comes out with this illuminating statement.   
David waits until Miliband appears able to breathe again before he replies. "I know that's what your daddy thinks" he says slowly. "I happen to think that's a little bit of a generalization."  
Daniel's forehead furrows as he absent-mindedly brushes his brother's hair with one hand. "What does gen-gen-_Sam_-" as his younger brother crawls into the back of his knees, pushing a truck as he hums under his breath. "Gen-zation mean?"  
"It means-" David begins at the same time as Miliband says "Daniel, a generalization ith-" They both break off at once and David waits for Miliband to continue the explanation.  
But Miliband shakes his head. "Go on" he says and smiles when Daniel glances at him, confused. "Mr. Cameron will tell you."  
"Oh, Dave's fine." David turns back to Daniel, resting a hand on the little boy's shoulder. "A generalization is when someone says a lot of people are all the same because they have one other thing in common. Like say there was a little girl with blonde hair in your class who was good at maths." Daniel nods, eyes fixed intently on David. "A generalization would be if you then said that all little girls with blonde hair are good at maths just because they all have blonde hair. Do you see?"  
Daniel nods, brows creased. "Yes-I think." He blinks suddenly, apparently struck by a new thought. "You talk like my daddy."  
"Is that a good thing?" David laughs, as Zia pulls Sam further onto her knee. "Well, we do very similar jobs."

"Yeth. It'th about having different ideas."

  
Daniel nods slowly. "Daddy has the red team and Mr. Cameron has the blue team."  
This explanation is interrupted by Sam suddenly standing up straight, turning to David and then, without warning, hurling himself straight into David's knees.  
David just manages to save his tea, laughter spilling out of his throat at the sight of two bright little eyes staring up at him, above a dimple-edged smile. "Goodness me-"  
His remark is drowned out by Zia's voice._"Sam-"_  
She steps across to the little boy, taking him firmly by the shoulders and turning him towards David. "Sam, no running, you've been told-"  
Sam's already blinking up at him, grin not dimmed in the slightest. "Sorry" and without further ado, he scrambles up into David's lap, to hide his face.  
Daniel stands to the side, blinking awkwardly, as Sam settles himself into the crook of David's arm. David's eyes rest on Miliband's elder son and he feels a small pang in his chest. He holds out his hand gently and slowly, Daniel reaches to take it.  
"Here-" David carefully lifts Daniel onto the couch, letting him nestle into the crook of his other arm. He glances at Miliband. "Is this-"  
"What? Oh-oh, no, it's fine-" Miliband's watching him with an expression on his face that David can't quite place. He's distracted quickly by Sam pushing a truck over his knee and saying "When you and Daddy got scared-"  
David and Miliband exchange glances.  
"You were precting Daddy-"  
"Protecting-" Miliband corrects him even as he and David avoid one another's eyes. David can't quite shake the memory of his arms somehow ending up round Miliband's shoulders, his nose almost buried in the other man's hair.  
He's distracted by Sam blurting into David's shoulder "That's good, cos Daddy-Daddy can't win in a fight."  
David does laugh this time and Miliband's lips twitch as Zia smiles quietly to herself. Even Daniel is giggling as he curls up against David now, as Sam yawns, knuckling at his eyes.

Zia stands up, already heading for the little boy, arms out. "I think it's bedtime in a minute."  
Sam blinks and shakes his head. "No, no, one more minute, one more-" David can't help but notice that neither Sam nor Daniel looks at their father very often.  
Zia sighs, eyes moving from one boy to another. "One more minute."  
Sam turns happily back to David. "Do you like our daddy?" he says, without preamble and David grins, raising an eyebrow at Miliband over his son's shoulder. Miliband arches his own.  
David turns to Sam and Daniel. "Of course I like your daddy" he says. "We don't-" He searches for a word to describe the constant arguing between himself and Miliband. "Always agree" he finally settles on and sees Miliband's mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. "But your daddy-" He watches the little boy for a long moment. "He always tries to do what he thinks is right" he finally settles on and when he glances at Miliband, sees the other man watching him, a small smile at his mouth.  
"Daddy, do you like Mr.Cameron?" asks Daniel, as Sam wraps his arms around David's neck, the little boy's head burrowing into David's shoulder.

"Do I like Mr. Cameron?" Miliband meets David's eyes over Daniel's head. For a moment, their eyes lock, each of them silently daring the other. Then Miliband turns to his son. "Of course I like Mr. Cameron. He-" He trails off, his eyes flickering back to David's momentarily and then he says "Well-even if we don't always agree with each other-Mr. Cameron does a lot of-good things for the country. Even if we don't agree. And that's important, isn't it?" He addresses the last part to his two sons, but both of their gazes drift away from him.

* * *

  
As Ed walks him to the door, David realises suddenly that it's the first time they've been alone since the moment Zia and the boys opened the door, and the silence suddenly feels a little stretched between them. David glances at Miliband, only to catch him hastily looking away.  
When they reach the front door, David swallows and turns to face Miliband. "Well" he says and Miliband glances down at his feet awkwardly, shuffling back and forth for a moment.  
"Thank you for the documents" he says, rather hurriedly, and it's only then that David remembers his original reason for coming over. "I'll look-look over them over the weekend-"  
"Oh-well-" David struggles for a moment. "That-that was-um-"  
Miliband's eyes dart to his and then away again. David clears his throat. "Call me if you have any more encounters with irascible ghosts, Miliband."  
"Cameron, I know that you'll be dreading the election but I really don't think Ghothtbuthters would be a viable alternative career."  
"Well, I'll make sure to carry a remote control at all times."  
Miliband nibbles at his lip and David grins. "You're laughing, Miliband."  
Miliband furrows his brow. "No, I'm not."  
David shakes his head. "Making up stories, Miliband?" When Miliband's lip twitches again, he softens his voice. "You have two wonderful sons."  
Miliband lets a genuine smile creep over his mouth. "Thank you" he says, though David can't help but notice that he almost but not quite winces.  
David smiles. "They make rather good debaters. Of course, given the standard I'm used to-"  
"Cameron, maybe you'd better stop before you ruin it."  
David doesn't even try to hide his smile. "Fine." He turns around, already wondering what he's going to tell his security about how he managed to disappear into Miliband's house for nearly three hours-"Cameron?"  
He turns on the doorstep to see Miliband staring at him. "I-um-thank you" he says awkwardly. "For-um-for being here tonight-for staying, I mean-"  
"Oh-" David swallows. "No, thank you. For having me."  
Miliband opens his mouth, as if about to say something more but then he turns back towards the hall. "I'll-um-" He breaks off and then holds out his hand.  
David takes it. "Night, Miliband."  
Miliband meets his eyes with a smile-a quieter smile than usual, shyer at the edges. "Night, Cameron."

They stand like that for another moment, their fingers wrapped around each other. David smiles. "Night, Miliband."

* * *

  
David feels a strange pang as they pull away and it isn't until he's in his car as they're driving away that he realises it's disappointment.  
_Disappointment. Miliband._  
Maybe Sam's right when she says he's working too hard.  


* * *

  
_Playlist_

  
_Common Ground-Kodaline-"And people will tell you what you want to hear/But the people who know you well and make it all clear...Sure we will all be forgotten/And we all grow bored/Yeah, we will all be forgotten/But a common ground is a good place to start"_

  
_Talk!-The 1975-"I think you're trying too hard with your lungs in tar/And your kitchen full of pop stars...Passing grammatical mistakes/Totally wrecked and polemic in the way he talks/Vocal sabbatical delayed by churning out the same...And I've been thinking lots about your mouth/A conversation superseded by the way he talks"_

  
_ Home Is A Fire-Death Cab For Cutie-"Home, home is a fire/A burning reminder/Of where we belong, oh/With walls, built up around us/The bricks make me nervous...Plates they will shift/Houses will shake/Fences will drift/We will awake/Only to find/Nothing's the same"_

  
_This Night Has Opened My Eyes-The Smiths-"The dream has gone/But the baby is real/...And I'm not happy/And I'm not _ _sad/And I'm not happy/And I'm not sad"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation with Justine about trains remembered by Ed can be seen here: https://bit.ly/2xeS7Rw  
Florence had just started school: https://bit.ly/2TOahRP  
Nancy does nickname her dad Phil Dunphy, after Modern Family: https://bit.ly/2VWk771  
http://dailym.ai/333gBZZ  
David infamously left Nancy in the pub: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18391663  
http://dailym.ai/3aF4MLY  
http://dailym.ai/2TBTjHn  
Nancy did refuse to allow David to come into the classroom on school tours and Sam does the DIY:https://bit.ly/32YGryj  
https://bit.ly/2IB8A4R  
Nancy does still remind David of leaving her in the pub and has the poster of the cartoon at the time on her wall: https://bit.ly/38CW0wG  
The Education Secretary line refers to when David demoted Michael to Chief Whip, due to negative polling: https://bbc.in/2TNopuG  
"Massive David Cameron problem" refers to this PMQs (where David referred to Labour having a "massive Ed Miliband problem") : https://bit.ly/2xnpHF9  
The PMQs in this chapter are here:https://bit.ly/2TyykFp  
The schools are ones David and Sam were considering for Nancy for her secondary education-she eventually went to the same (state) school as Michael's daughter Beatrice, which was the Camerons' second choice (the Gove and Cameron children also attended the same primary school): https://bit.ly/2PXncQo  
https://bit.ly/3cJqFeY  
http://dailym.ai/2TASaQg  
https://bit.ly/2TxQ4AI  
Ed mentioned not going through a rebellious period-he also lived in Boston for six months as a child:https://bit.ly/2IrV0AS  
https://bit.ly/2IxB4wE  
Ian is Ed's next-door neighbour and also David's friend and speechwriter: http://dailym.ai/38v2nSB  
His daughter Iona has Ohtahara Syndrome, the same condition as Ivan:https://bit.ly/2vP1Rld  
The PMQs where David called the two Eds muppets:https://bbc.in/2vay0U8  
Jaffa Cakes are Ed's favourite biscuits:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/8394736.stm  
His kids are/were Octonauts fans:https://bit.ly/2v6dkN1  
David's "Calm Down Dear, It's Only A Recession" poster:https://bit.ly/38x2Nbm  
Ed did refer to Labour and the Tories as the red/blue teams to his sons:https://bit.ly/3aPEjf5  
Florence and Sam were born only three months apart:http://dailym.ai/38wPXcT  
Justine was a governor at her and Ed's sons' school:https://bit.ly/2wCsav0  
Ed's cleaner:http://dailym.ai/32ZmuaC  
The Camerons revealed they sent their kids to a small church school:https://bit.ly/336gaxV  
Bea's Halloween gathering which was mentioned: http://dailym.ai/3cHFS0k


	4. The Unifying Qualities Of Fireworks, Haribos And Bright-Eyed Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which a ten-year-old is one's most terrifying opponent, Haribos are far superior as rings, and there is absolutely no question that sheep are magical."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
There are a LOT of reference quotes in this one. They refer to Ed's Booboo and Heehee stories, some tidbits about the Cameron family living in Downing Street and Chequers, and, most interestingly, the close friendship between David, George and Michael, and their being godparents to each other's children.  
If you can't read any of the articles linked, send me a message or an ask and I'll find a way for you to:)  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me what you like about it, or just chat, you can find me on my  
[Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) .  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_When I was a child, my father used to tell me a story about two sheep who lived on the Yorkshire moors called Booboo and Heehee. And-I loved the stories that he used to tell me and they were of the sort of-a big giant and some sort of a guy called Jonathan Pillowcase. Anyway, it was quite a-sort of brilliant story and I used to love to read it. Anyway, I've been telling my kids this story as well-we lived in Leeds when I was between the ages of three to seven, three and seven-so sort of the Yorkshire moors and all that. And they really liked the story, and it's become sort of embroidered and a lot sort of-anyway, I'm sort of at the stage where I'm thinking **"Oh God, they're gonna sort of like-they're gonna, they're, they're, they're kind of getting to that stage where they're-"We don't really want any Booboo and Heehee tonight, thanks very much-we're too busy sort of-"-**you know. Anyway, well-not only has Booboo and Heehee...sort of been resurrected, but also my dad once was-my dad was a writer of books about sort of politics and, you know, class-but, you know, he once started writing a book of this. Anyway-and I found my kids at the computer the other morning, and they were starting to write the book! So there you go, passing down the generations...The Chief Magician is called Amanda Chairleg, she's the sort of, kind of big-Amanda Chairleg is mine, actually, she's the sort of-she's in the kind of sequel, my sequel.-Ed Miliband, speaking in 2020._

* * *

_Downing Street. A strange row of a few tall, mismatched townhouses cowering in the shadow of the mighty Foreign Office._

_A little figure pops out of the shiny black door and sails down the road on a lilac-coloured scooter._

_**"Hello, Flo"** beams the first police officer she passes, his finger on the trigger of a machine gun. His colleague opens the iron pedestrian gate and the pink figure glides through, passing a photographer who is snapping away._

_As she weaves through the tourists on Whitehall, her knackered dad, clutching a baby doll and a little glittery bag, accompanied by a plain-clothes protection officer, tries to keep up with her, before they cross the road and disappear into a side entrance of the House of Commons. _

_This is Florence Cameron on her daily journey to nursery, and this is the only world she has ever known.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_In August (2010) David and a heavily pregnant Samantha head off for their annual family holiday in Cornwall, their first since arriving at No.10. Although Samantha's due date is some way off, her babies have a habit of coming early. Florence is no exception. Off they rush to the Royal Cornwall in Truro and Florence Rose Endellion-Endellion after the Cornish village-makes her entrance to the world._

_The No. 10 press and ops teams rush down for the requisite photo call. But by this time Samantha has learned to push back on the enthusiastic comms team. She is not being frog-marched outside for a photo call straight after a Caesarean, as was done after Elwen's birth. **Click-**a nice picture of David holding Florence is released to the press. The family photo op will wait for their return to No.10, where baby Florence is ensconced upstairs in the flat in a cardboard box with her name on it. She was Queen of No.10 for the time she inhabited it and possibly loves it more than any of us. When the moment comes to leave in 2016, she tries to attach herself to the railings. We are supposed to make a dignified exit, Samantha explains. "**But I don't want to go"** says Florence._

_Florence's popularity grew with her mobility. Her first fans are the custodians, policemen and gardeners, who admire her daily trips to St James's Park, where she is pushed in her pram by Gita, her devoted nanny. It seems hardly any time before she is propelling herself with speed and dexterity around the carpeted corridors of No.10 on a pink scooter with matching helmet, visiting her favourite members of staff (noticeably those who had sweets.)-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No.10, Kate Fall_

_There are no pets in No.10 when we arrive, only the memory of a bygone age of Humphrey, the Blairs' cat. Andy Coulson sets about trying to put this right early on. He wants a dog-a bulldog, even. This is perhaps an attempt to capture the nation's imagination, but it is obviously out of the question. No bulldog. No dog. In fact, David and Samantha have no desire to have a pet, full stop. But Andy persists. And when a mouse runs out from under David's desk we agree: it is time for a mouser. This will strictly be a house-not a Cameron-cat. The cat's food is paid for by an annual quiz night, which becomes the most popular staff event of the year. Liz Sugg goes off to Battersea Dogs & Cats Home and comes back with Larry. The cat people think he has the right personality for No.10. They are right, he does, roaming the corridors like the alpha predator he is supposed to be, sitting wherever he likes, including on David's chairs, and covering his suit with a layer of cat hair. Only the Chief Whip, Sir George Young, dares remove him from the sofa when he finds him in his favourite spot at the 4p.m. meeting. He is very nearly never asked back._

_Does Larry ever catch a mouse? I think not. Possibly because he is so spoilt. Fed by a doting staff. Sent presents from all over the world-toys, blankets, even bow ties. Larry has a girlfriend who lives in the keeper's cottage in St James's Park. It is an abusive relationship; he eats her food. But he is still welcome. Larry even has a blog. There is no doubt about it: Larry is a celebrity. They erect a blue plaque for him at Battersea. But Larry's glory days are to be short-lived. Somewhere across London an elderly lady dies and her family bring her cat to the vet. They don't want to take on a pet, so the vet suggests they track down the former owners, who turn out to be a family called Osborne. Freya has been gone quite a while, having run off with the neighbourhood alley cats a few years back. Her brother, Oscar, went missing in action around the same time. In Downing Street George presents his delighted children with their long-lost cat (or at least one of them.) But the reception to Freya is a lot cooler elsewhere. Carol-who is nominally in charge of Larry-is against. Larry won't like it, she says, shaking her head. And soon there is a growing clamour of Larry supporters who make it clear: George's cat is not welcome. This does not deter George._

_Freya arrives-a comfortable, overweight female, used to a sedentary life at the side of her elderly owner. The real Freya is yet to emerge. In a few months she morphs from house-cat to full-blown minx. With her trim little figure and adventurous streak, she begins to throw her weight around, soon becoming a well-known sight not just around Nos 10 and 11 but all over Whitehall. She regularly attends meetings in the Foreign Office, where William's team think she has been bugged, either by the Russians or possibly by George. But her reputation is truly defined by her relationship with Larry, whom she loves to torture. She displaces him from his favourite sunbathing spots and fights with him openly in front of the cameras, undermining his "cred" in "the House." With Freya around, Larry becomes a bit of a recluse, sleeping for hours on end in the lesser-known corners of No. 10. His supporters are not happy. The cat soap opera is brought to an abrupt end when Freya is hurt by a car and taken home by Carol for her own safety. Some less charitable people in the building think Carol has catnapped George's tabby. But I suspect George (being more of a dog person) and Carol have conspired to find Freya a new home. No one is happier than Larry...until Lola, the Osborne dog, arrives.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No.10, Kate Fall_

_Jeremy Heywood suggests that I choose some pictures for David's den and the private office next door. By the time I get round to booking an appointment with Penny Johnson, head of the Government Art Collection, George-who is something of an art connoisseur-has already taken the best pictures for his various offices...I search for an image of Churchill but am told none are left-until I find a charming one in George's dining room. And above the sofa in his study is a beautiful Nevinson-an image from the First World War, perched within the clouds-which I long to hijack for our end of the corridor. Even though the den looks so shabby with its stained sofa, torn armchairs, and drooping curtains, David is reluctant to spend a penny on it while we push ahead with austerity. We agree to let things be. So we are slightly put out when George redecorates his rooms with Osborne & Little-courtesy of his parents, not the taxpayer. We feel like the poor relations; David grumbles as he passes the newly laid carpet. When George's lovely new wallpaper seems repelled by the old walls we are not overly sympathetic.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No.10, Kate Fall_

_Though, of course, I did relish living in that great building. Showing friends or visitors the State Rooms or the Cabinet Room after dinner, padding through the dark corridors trying to find light switches and door keys and to remember the important points about pictures, statues and pieces of furniture-the thrill never wore off. While everyone knows the iconic front door, few people actually know what it's like behind it. No. 10 is not open to the public and the road is gated at either end. There are only a couple of hundred people working there, and just a few dozen who have ever actually lived there. The house was gifted to the first prime minister, Robert Walpole, by King George II, but Downing Street was thought a rather grotty part of town to live in, and it was only really in the twentieth century that successive PMs would actually make it their home. What surprises many people is that the famous door is not just reserved for world leaders and photocalls; it's what staff and visitors come in and go out of every day. There is no key; it's manned by the team of "custodians", 24/7._

_The former drawing rooms and studies of the original seventeenth-century house now form a mishmash of offices large and small, and the many extensions and renovations over the years add to that higgledy-piggledy feel. The fact that our country's seat of power has this slightly improvised, rickety sense-that it is both grand and homely-seems brilliantly British. The big black door isn't wooden, it's metal (and the zero on it is a bit wonky because the original apparently was.) Up the famous staircase are the beautiful state rooms, with their extraordinary views of Horse Guards and St James's Park. The State Dining Room doubles up as a dance floor for staff summer and Christmas parties. Thatcher's Study, now home to the vast oak table from the G8 summit, is used for everything from bilateral meetings to small drinks and dinner parties. It would also be the place I'd watch the EU referendum results come in, a whisky in hand, with my small team and Nancy by my side._

_Everywhere you walk there are curiosities-fake doors, quirky objects-layered with historical facts and more recent gossip. Churchill's chair (surprisingly small.) Pitt the Younger's desk (miniature for someone who was six feet tall.) Thatcher's gold-leaf ceiling. Macmillan's coffin-shaped cabinet table. Countryside scenes by Turner not far from Tracey Emin's neon art (an unexpected Tory supporter, she gave me a piece of art for the house-a pink lit-up sign saying "More Passion" that I chose to go above the Terracotta Room entrance.) Through the arch in the street, opened only on rare occasions, you can walk into the Foreign Office courtyard, and beyond that into the Treasury.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_Somewhere in all this there are two flats, behind alarmed doors. Because at the same time as being the heart of government, Downing Street provides a home for not one but two families (who tend to use the back entrance facing St James's Park, avoiding the cameras and crowds.) From the flat above No.11, a spiral staircase leads down to the garden. Of course the garden has its official purposes. It was the setting for political gatherings, charity receptions and even Shakespeare plays. We used it to promote the Olympics and school sports, and to celebrate the success of national football, rugby, cricket, and other teams. From it you can see a reminder of the 1991 IRA mortar attack, whose damage to the brickwork has been left as a reminder. _ _But to Nancy, Elwen and Florence the garden was a football pitch, a cricket pitch, a playground (we had climbing frames installed) and a place to explore and have fun. I was often rescuing them from trees they had climbed up but couldn't climb down. _

_Although Downing Street never sleeps-the duty clerks, press officers, custodians, police and switchboard operators work around the clock-it can be surprisingly quiet at night. Except, that is, in the No.10 flat, which we moved to at the end of May 2010, and where Margaret Thatcher and John Major both lived. The noise of the bell in Horse Guards Parade would wake me at regular intervals. _

_Of course, for the children, there was no distinction between what were home areas and what were work areas. It was all theirs. It was one giant labyrinth to explore, and they loved it. They'd climb across the green baize of the cabinet table and jump onto the chair used by Churchill, only half aware that they were here because Daddy was doing the same job as him. I say half aware, because they were more interested in the fact that there were Fox's Glacier Mints in little bowls on the table. **"Daddy, your office has sweets!"** I recall Elwen declaring._

_I remember seeing the chief of the defence staff coming through the front door in full-dress uniform, decked out in medals, to be confronted by Florence sitting on the black-and-white chequered floor of the hallway, asking him "**What are you doing in my house?"** She came to know people in the building well. She knew which desk she could expect a Polo mint, an apple, or part of a bar of chocolate from. She truly was a daughter of Downing Street.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_The rodent problem (in Downing Street) was so bad that Liz Sugg was charged with a visit to Battersea Dogs And Cats Home. She came back with a chunky tabby who had been found as a stray and named Larry. He was not **"the Camerons' cat"**, as the press liked to claim, but "Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office." He didn't catch many mice, but he was a fine-looking cat, although not the most friendly. I liked having him curled up in my office-even if he did cover every chair in white fur.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_The Camerons follow the example set by the Blairs, who lived here with four children, and move into the flat above No.11, not the one above No.10, which is traditionally used for the prime minister. The No.11 flat is much larger-a house within a house, with lovely views. Here Samantha erects a fence around the family, while...also fulfilling her range of duties as wife to the prime minister...Samantha carefully carves out a life for herself and her family that hits the right balance-supporting David when he needs her, but focusing primarily on her children and her interests. Right from the start, Samantha sets down her rules. This is not going to turn into a 24/7, Clinton-style, pizza-eating, "meeting-a-thon." The minute David walks through the door of the flat, it is family time or red boxes. Unless we absolutely have to, we mostly don't intrude. We already operate on eleven-or-twelve-hour days. Out of hours we do as much as we can on our official No.10 Blackberries from home. Of course I am on email and take calls late into the evening, but I am at home. If there is an emergency we all come back in. This is important. There is a time at night when I know I can return to be with my own children.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_Samantha is feeling much happier in Number 10 than she had expected, though she is still painfully shy. She has redesigned the flat (largely at their own expense) to look elegant but homely, like all the places they had lived in: **"She had properly nested in it" **says an aide. **"She was feeling much more settled, and her state of mind soothes him. They have a home upstairs in Downing Street to escape to, which she likes, and that helps him too."** When Samantha is happy, so is he...If Ivan and Ian were the greatest influences on him, Samantha is the sheet anchor of his life and premiership. She brings him down to earth. **"She is so creative and supportive. The key thing for me is sanity at home. Samantha is absolutely amazing at it"** he says. **"Take our first summer in 2010. We'd been living in the flat above Downing Street and then we went off to Cornwall, and she had our baby and somehow or other she manages to completely redesign our flat and make it a home for us all."** He cannot fathom how she manages to bring up the family, maintain her own work as a creative consultant at the luxury leather goods firm Smythson, and be extensively involved in charity without courting personal publicity._

_Her head is not turned by the glamour of her role; indeed, a criticism is that she is too retiring in her role as ""**First Lady" a**nd does not attend as many official events as might a more ambitious consort. Equally, no PM's wife in the modern era, with the exception of Cherie Blair, has simultaneously managed to cope with having a child while bringing up a family in Number 10. Samantha takes care not to express her views in public, and only rarely to her husband in private. Although from a privileged background herself, her down-to-earth approach to life has helped smooth away some of his more privileged attitudes and opinions, epitomised by his membership of the much-ridiculed upper-class Bullingdon Club when at Oxford from 1985-8. She has become content enough at Downing Street, but she looks forward to the day when the commotion of their lives there is over...Cameron is the linchpin, the steadying presence, who holds his whole family together. These formative experiences draw him even closer to Samantha, to his brother Alex, to his mother Mary, and to his three surviving children, as well as to his close circle, above all Llewellyn, Fall, Hilton, Osborne and Coulson.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_After our initial scepticism, we had created a great home in No. 10. The biggest factor in this was Samantha. She was the one who did all the work to make our home life there so successful. She was the one who thought so carefully about how to protect our children and keep them grounded with their old friends and in their existing schools. She was the one who looked after me and kept me vaguely sane. At the same time, she fulfilled the role of prime minister's wife in the most brilliant way. It's not easy to do. Simply carry on with your own career, and you are criticised for not helping. Stay totally in the background, protecting your family, and you are accused of shrinking away. Back your husband or wife too vigorously, and you're accused of meddling in politics. And heaven forbid that you speak out and offer a political opinion of your own._

_Samantha continued to work for the business, Smythson, where she had been for fourteen years, starting as a window dresser and rising to design director. She held charity receptions in Downing Street every week. Quietly, and without publicity, she volunteered at a homeless shelter, the Passage, and for an organisation that helps to promote women, Dress for Success. She was assisted magnificently over the years by Isabel Spearman, then Kate Shouesmith and then Rosie Lyburn. I can't recall anyone criticising her for any element of what she did-and rightly so. What was her secret? As well as having great judgement and being extraordinarily efficient, I think one of the keys to her success was that she didn't change. At all. She was determined that her friends would stay the same. As much of her life as possible would stay the same. She would still go on holiday in the same places and spend time doing the same things with the same people. And one other thing that never changed was that while she supported what I did, and cared passionately that I got things right, she wasn't at all impressed with any of the trappings of office. She was thoroughly grounded-and hopefully she kept me slightly grounded as well.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_Sam was growing to love it there too. While we were in the No.10 flat she was preparing a refurbishment of the much bigger one in No.11, where the Blairs and Browns had lived with their families. When we arrived it felt a bit like a tired London hotel-lots of brown furniture, pink carpets and damask. But beyond that there were beautifully proportioned rooms, high ceilings, tall windows and a sweeping staircase with an Adam-esque dome above. Samantha was determined to bring it up to date and get it finished over the summer (of 2010). Heavily pregnant with Florence, she would be marshalling builders, plasterers, decorators and carpenters while at the same time dealing with the No.10 works department and clearing all the hurdles involved in making changes to a listed and complicated building._

_We decided that we would add our own money to the allowance set aside to ensure that the occupants kept the place up to scratch and didn't allow it to become dilapidated. It was well spent, and Sam did an amazing job. It was fresh and cool, but cosy too. The kitchen became the heart of the flat-and it was there that the dramas of family life, with all its tears, tantrums, homework crises, nit combs, art projects, cooking experiments and family arguments were played out over the next six years.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_David knows it falls on him to sort things out. Michael (Gove) is his friend; their families are friends...Michael is in touch with George; Sarah with me. Sarah has also been close to Samantha for some time, volunteering to play a strong, supportive role; over the years, I have watched her ferrying the Cameron children around, or attending to Samantha, and wondered if she might grow weary of it...David suggests that I find out if we can make one of the Admiralty House flats available to them (the Goves.) This way they can rent their house in west London and have more time as a family when Michael is busy working late nights in the Commons. Sarah comes by to have a look around but decides against the move....Older, wiser people have warned that political friendships don't last. I thought, **You just don't understand these ones. They are different. **And some were.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_Not only was he (Michael) one of my best friends, his wife Sarah Vine, a journalist on The Times, got on brilliantly with Sam. Our children were at the same school, they had lived a few streets away from us in North Kensington, and we still met up for dinner and they would often come to stay at Chequers.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_He's particularly pained because of the very close personal and family relationship that exists between the Goves and the Camerons, including between Samantha and Gove's journalist wife, Sarah Vine, a friendship that has protected Gove for several difficult months when the knives were out for him. Sarah had looked after Cameron's children on election night in 2010 and had even been tipped to join the Number 10 team. Close foursomes are rare at the top of politics and rarely last: the Blairs with Alastair Campbell and his partner, Fiona Millar was one such, till breaking apart spectacularly.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon,_

_As well as the spoof societies, Gove was a member of some more serious dining clubs. The Fellow Travellers was a club run by the Sunday Times deputy editor Martin Ivens. It would meet at the Travellers Club-hence the name-in Pall Mall, and among the bright, right, young things setting the world in order were Gove and David Cameron. The pair were seeing plenty of each other throughout the mid-’90s, with the friendship growing thanks to a group holiday to Tuscany. Also present on the trip were Ed Vaizey, Simone Finn (Gove’s ex-girlfriend), Matthew D’Ancona, Robert Hardman, Jane Hardman (no relation), Marcus Kiggell and Lizzie Noel. Gove attended Cameron’s stag do in May 1996, which saw around thirty guests attend an afternoon at the races and then dine in a marquee in a field in Lambourn, in Berkshire. Again, Vaizey was present, as well as Steve Hilton and Telegraph leader writer Dean Gods. As we have seen, Gove was not averse to plugging his friends in the pages of The Times. On 23 December 1996, he speculated about what the Conservative shadow Cabinet might look like after the next election. John Redwood was installed as leader in Gove’s fantasy Cabinet, with Michael Portillo as shadow Foreign Secretary, and Cameron, who was contesting the seat of Stafford, as shadow Chief Secretary to the Treasury. Rachel Whetstone and Catherine Fall-who would become key players in what was eventually dubbed **“the Notting Hill set”**-were likewise flagged up by Gove in an article on 2 April 1997. Under the sub-headline **“They’re spin doctors with sex appeal”, **Gove wrote: **Laddishness is, however, de rigeur at Tory Central Office, where breeding, in both senses, matters. While the boys tend to be Loaded meets P.G. Wodehouse, the girls are all real Wooster women. The most accomplished Conservative coquettes, such as Catherine Fall and Rachel Whetstone, all come from thorough-bred stables like Cobham and Roedean.”** Gove even managed to squeeze in a mention of his then-girlfriend Amanda Foreman (close friend of Frances Howell (later Osborne) and later George Osborne) in a 22 October 1996 article on the return of political hostesses, in which he referenced her upcoming biography of Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire._

_One person who did not benefit from Gove’s patronage was his best friend from university, Ed Vaizey. There is no mention of the man who was standing for the Tories in Bristol East in any of Gove’s predictions of greatness. Perhaps it would have been too close to home-literally-as the pair had continued their living arrangement from when Gove first moved to London. The duo shared a place on Golborne Road, in north Kensington, and as well as enjoying the upsides of London life, they also had to contend with some of the negatives. One evening, the pair came home to see their front door open and two burglars run past them. They gave pursuit-Gove slightly more enthusiastically than Vaizey, according to a friend-and the police eventually apprehended the felons, who had stolen watches and other valuables.-Michael Gove: A Man In A Hurry, Owen Bennett_

_By now, Cameron was making a name for himself, as was another young MP who lived in the same fashionable part of town: George Osborne. Under Michael Howard, both were given shadow ministerial roles and their profiles soared. Both were working the TV and radio studios, and it was paying off. The Westminster village began to talk of them as future leadership material. Boris Johnson's father Stanley, who hoped to become an MP in the 2005 election, remembers joking about the two young Turks at a gala dinner for party supporters in Newton Abbott. **"Who is the Blair and who is the Brown?"** he asked. The audience laughed knowingly. **"We all wonder if there is some kind of "Granita pact""** Johnson continued, alluding to the gentlemen's agreement between Blair and Brown. **"All I can tell you, ladies and gentlemen, is that the Cameroons are coming!"**_

_As Howard's golden boys, the pair had been elevated to VIP status on the Conservative social circuit. Cameron was guest of honour at the dinner....That he (Johnson) referred to the "Cameroons" rather than the "Osbornites" suggests that he, for one, considered Cameron to be the Blair to Osborne's Brown-though, at this stage, no one was quite sure if this was the right way round. Regardless, the "Blair and Brown" tag was fast gaining traction...Unlike Blair and Brown, however, Cameron and Osborne were close personal friends. In years to come, under the most intense pressure, their relationship would prove rock solid. Their strikingly similar backgrounds meant this had come naturally. Osborne's schooling was marginally less grand (he attended St Paul's, a private day school in west London) but his family origins were undoubtedly on a par: Osborne's father is a baronet, and the family tree is littered with politicians, magistrates, lawyers and sheriffs.) Christened Gideon (later as an insecure teenager, he changed it by deed poll) he too had a very privileged childhood, though the circles in which he and his parents moved were different to Cameron's Shire Tory set. As a child, the future Chancellor enjoyed relaxing in the idyllic pastures of The Vinnicks, a house in a village just a few miles from Peasemore. He then followed Cameron to Oxford, where he studied history. Like Cameron, he joined the Bullingdon Club and kept clear of student politics (although he did edit the student magazine, Isis.) From Oxford he too joined CRD, where he was **"almost a mini-me of Cameron"**-their similarity in manner and build attracting the attention of colleagues who had stayed long enough to have worked with both. (Cameron was working for Howard by the time Osborne, four years his junior, joined Central Office.) But while the Cameron clan clung to rural respectability, Osborne's family was more urbane. His parents settled into the glamorous and cosmopolitan world of 1960s Chelsea, his father establishing a fashionable wallpaper business on King's Road. They wore their social liberalism like a badge of honour, passing these instincts on to their son, who as a politician would display notably few hang-ups on moral or cultural questions. (As Chancellor, he once left colleagues open-mouthed when, behind closed doors, he launched an impassioned defence of the current abortion time limit. **"I did not come into politics to stop a woman's right to choose"** he exclaimed.)_

_By the time he entered Parliament in 2001-the same year as Cameron-Osborne was a hard-edged politician with the air of one who had seen it all before. His path through the thickets of backroom Tory politics in the 1990s was strewn with disappointment and frustration: the Conservatives had been out of office for almost the entirety of his political life and he had witnessed back-to-back Laboud landslides up close. As speechwriter to a beleaguered William Hague in 2001, he was chained to an operation that alternated between slapstick and disaster. It left him with a hunger for power that has marked him ever since, and pushed him down the "modernisation" road several years before Cameron decided to follow in his footsteps. Between 2001 and 2004, Cameron and Osborne started to spend more and more time in each other's company, working together for both Iain Duncan Smith and Michael Howard. They also began socialising, taking advantage of the proximity of their homes in west London and a shared bicycle route back from the Commons. When the Camerons' first daughter Nancy came along in 2004, Osborne became her godfather.-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_The disparate elements of what was to become Cameron's leadership team began to come together in the late spring of 2004. In May Gove held a dinner in a Mayfair restaurant that he admits was a conscious effort to begin planning for the aftermath of the following year's general election. He invited the leading Tory talents of his generation-Cameron was an obvious invitee, as were Boles, Hilton and Osborne. The question of the leadership was not explicit-the subject of the discussion was what should be the themes of twenty-first-century Conservatism-but a guest remembers **"much jockeying."** The dinners continued over the next twelve months with a shifting guest-list that had Cameron and Osborne at its core. Increasingly, the events were held at Cameron's house in Finstock Road in North Kensington. Looking back on this period it is tempting to speculate that Cameron was mentally preparing himself for a run at the leadership after the election. It was natural that the discussion should take place at his home: he had always been the leader of his gang whose core members were Hilton and Gove. Osborne, who led a younger, more modernising gang of Cooper, Finkelstein and others, seems not to have been thinking in such tangible terms about his own leadership ambitions before the 2005 general election. (Greg) Barker, who became a regular guest at the Finstock Road dinners, thought them frustratingly woolly in terms of concrete outcome. But gradually, a leadership and headquarters were emerging from all this talk. Comparisons between Cameron and Blair can be misleading, but it is striking how similar is the make-up of their inner teams. Blair had a marketing guru, Philip Gould, a journalist, Alastair Campbell, and the other leading young star of his intake, Gordon Brown. Cameron had a marketing guru, Hilton, a journalist, Gove, and the other young star of his intake, Osborne, who might also be said to perform the role as the Tories Peter Mandelson...What is indisputable is that many of those (Michael) Howard employed within his inner office are now part of Cameron's backroom staff or kitchen cabinet-with one notable exception: Rachel Whetstone herself...**"This is what we call the Notting Hill-set. They sit around in these curious little bistros in parts of London, drink themselves silly, and wish they were doing what the rest of us are getting on with"** Conway said. It hardly mattered that none of the group would ever, as one put it, **"set foot inside a bistro"**, a form of eating establishment that is, in any case, a rarity within the W11 postcode. There was enough truth in Conway's caricature for it to stick fast._

_The following day's newspapers contained a flurry of features, some replete with maps, detailing the overwhelmingly west London habitat of a collection of what had been a hitherto fairly anonymous group of staffers, junior MPs and journalists. In the best of these, by the Guardian's Nicholas Watt, Cameron and Whetstone were described as the group's **"pivotal figures"** while George Bridges (today Cameron's political director, at the time head of the Conservative Research Department), Ed Vaizey and Michael Gove, both speechwriters for Howard, were named as more junior acolytes. Watt wrung a rare quote from Hilton, whom he accurately described as **"a member of the set's inner circle": "There is no point in pretending (that it doesn't exist.) We're mates. We go on holiday and have been doing this for years. We all worked together at Conservative Central Office in the run-up the 1992 election. That was the origin of the friendship."** Hilton added: **"We're genuine mates first, and then comes politics. We have been around for a very long time. All this "bright young thing" stuff obscures the fact that we are actually old timers. I have been intimately involved in Tory election strategy for nearly 15 years."**-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott & James Hanning_

_There was little the group could do to shake off the sobriquet (of the Notting Hill set.) They might not all have lived in W11, but they were certainly a recognisable social group, and sufficiently well-heeled to be able to enjoy a comfortable Notting Hill lifestyle. The set included Ed Vaizey and Nick Boles, one of the founders of an influential modernising think tank, Policy Exchange. Gove, also a Policy Exchange founder, was another key member. Described mischievously as a **"comfortably upholstered commentator"** by Cameron in his Guardian blog, the Times journalist planned to stand for a seat in the next election-having been under pressure from friends including Cameron to do so for some time...It was a fluid circle of friends, with plenty of fringe players, including George Bridges-another Old Etonian and a former political secretary to Major-and Kate Fall, a friend of Cameron's since Oxford. Yet the most important members were Steve Hilton and his on/off girlfriend (and future wife) Rachel Whetstone...The "Notting Hill set" did not begin as a political grouping. At first, it was about hanging out in London and holidaying together. As far back as the summer of 1991, Hilton and Cameron had rented a car and spent a happy ten days driving around the Italian countryside, staying in an old farmhouse and visiting some of Cameron's friends in Tuscany-including an ex-girlfriend. A few years later, the two men-this time accompanied by their respective girlfriends, Rachel and Samantha-visited Hilton's family in Hungary for the Easter holiday. The four of them stayed in Budapest for a few days before travelling south to the town of Szeged to meet Hilton's godmother. Later, as the group widened, there were further trips, including horse-riding holidays to Syria, Lebanon and Jordan. There was always political chitchat, but it was not yet a major feature of their social occasions. In their late twenties and early thirties, however, the exchange of ideas became more serious. As the Conservatives headed for a third successive election defeat,a and the group matured, there was a dawning realisation that they might be in a position to change things. It was only at this relatively late point, in 2004, that the "set" became a political force..._

_For some, the "set" is evidence of a deep-rooted cliqueyness in Cameron's character. He went from the Bullingdon Club to the Brat Pack-also known as the **"Smith Square set"**-straight into the **"Notting Hill set"** and later the **"Chipping Norton set."** He is nothing if not clubbable. One of the "Notting Hill set" says: **"From A to Z, then till now, Dave has managed to keep his friends close-people I holidayed with back in the 1990s are either working for him directly or working for him in some way or other. In some ways, it's a credit to his early friendships; in another way it's cliquey."**-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_Still, he (Osborne) attended induction meetings organised by the Commons authorities, where he and Cameron gravitated towards each other. Before that, they were acquainted rather than close. Apart from a few months in 1994, they had never actually worked in Westminster at the same time...Among the lesser known political by-products of the war on terror was the deepening of relations between the two brightest Tory MPs of the 2001 intake. Osborne and Cameron would sit together for hours in Commons debates about anti-terror legislation. They both lauded Blair's leadership, though Osborne was more voluble in his praise for Bush...After these late night sessions, Osborne would drive Cameron back to west London in his car. When Osborne decided to start cycling instead, Cameron was briefly without a lift. He eventually relented and began cycling too. Another of their intake found Osborne **"more overtly ambitious than David but also more relaxed and sociable."..**_

_The animating force (of modernisation in the Conservative Party) came from Osborne and his generation. He and Cameron, who discussed the plight of the party as they cycled to and from Westminster, were leaders of a set that was rapidly congealing from a loose gaggle of acquaintances into a coherent political clique. The pair attended regular dinners which also featured (Nick) Boles, (Rachel) Whetstone, (Andrew) Cooper, (Daniel) Finkelstein, (Michael) Gove (whom Osborne was only just getting to know) and Steve Hilton, who was taking time out of Good Business, the consultancy he owned and ran, to advise Howard. The impressive cast might have made for some coruscatingly brilliant political discourse but the meetings, which were usually conducted over takeaway pizzas at Policy Exchange, rarely moved beyond weary, impotent grumbling at the status quo. The most interesting thing about these discussions was the identity of the least fervent moderniser. It was Cameron who questioned the need for radical change, and who harboured the most hope for the Tories at the next election. **"George realised way, way before Dave that the party had to change"** according to one of the gang...Derek Conway, an ally of (David) Davis, lampooned the "Notting Hill set" as wine-drinking dilettantes with modish views and a mendacious habit of briefing against older, more traditional MPs. The media cited Osborne-who by now had the impressive-sounding non-job of shadow minister for economic affairs-and Cameron as ringleaders. That neither they nor many other members of the group actually lived in the faux-cool neighbourhood did not prevent Notting Hill becoming associated with modernising Tories in the way Islington was synonymous with New Labour. If Conway misrepresented the modernisers, he was at least right to portray them as an increasingly tight unit. Serving as social glue was a young member of the 2001 intake who did not show up in the newspaper profiles of the Notting Hill set. Greg Barker, who had been elected for Bexhill & Battle in Sussex, had befriended Cameron during parliamentary induction sessions and implored him to consider running for leader as early as 2003. He attended the modernisers' semi-regular dinners, which were beginning to migrate to Cameron's London home, and always left frustrated at their lack of an official frontman. He would earn the nickname **"Mystic Greg"** by forecasting to friends in the summer of 2004 the series of events that could propel Cameron to the top of the party. His projection was eerily close to what transpired the following year. If Cooper was the original moderniser in thought and spirit, Barker was perhaps the first practical agitator-and the first to insist that the movement would go nowhere until it acquired a leader.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_For the Cameroon inner circle, this day of patronage and power distribution was tinged with a sense of irrevocable change. All political cohorts are gangs, with a social face as well as an ideological purpose: the architects of New Labour had gone on holiday together and plotted in French and Tuscan villas. But the Cameroons existed as a social set even before they had acquired a clear political purpose. Cameron, (Steve) Hilton, Kate Fall, (Michael) Gove, Ed Vaizey (who would shortly be appointed Culture Minister), Nicholas Boles (the leading moderniser and newly elected MP for Grantham and Stamford) and a handful of others had been a gang first, a caucus second. They went on holiday together, were godparents to one another’s children and-that greatest of social bonds-shared childcare._

_The gang was porous: some lost touch, others were recruited to its social round. Osborne, a few years younger than the core Cameroons, was a natural addition. His (then) wife, the author Frances Osborne, was close to Simone Finn (nee Kubes), Gove’s girlfriend at Oxford and for several years thereafter. Finn would soon be advising Francis Maude at the Cabinet Office. She was also good friends with Gove’s wife, Sarah Vine, the Times journalist, who, in turn, was close to Samantha Cameron, helping to look after her children on election night…_

_Like the comprehensive-educated (William) Hague, Gove was sometimes a much-needed ambassador from outside the west London Tory demi-monde. Like Hilton, he enjoyed dual citizenship, firmly rooted in his past but happily assimilated to the world that the late Frank Johnson, former editor of The Spectator and Telegraph sketch writer, had christened “the Hill.” He had stepped out for several years with Simone Kubes (later Finn), who became a Special Adviser to Francis Maude, was a longtime friend of Kate Fall and had known Frances Howell long before George Osborne met and proposed to her. Gove’s wife, Sarah Vine, whom he had met at The Times, was independently close to Kubes/Finn and to Sam Cameron. Three degrees of separation were rarely necessary, let alone six…Gove and his wife performed a function in the Coalition as a couple that was completely distinct from their individual roles as a Cabinet minister and a newspaper columnist. **“Michael and Sarah are the couple the Camerons can hang out with and talk shop or not talk shop with. They help out with the kids, they are great company.”****-**In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D’Ancona_

_Much was made of the Cameron "inner circle"-the so-called **"Notting Hill set"-**_ _being an elitist group of friends. There were some strong friendships, but also some serious fallings out. Although there was a high density of Oxford graduates amongst us, we came together through politics-mostly from working at the Conservative Research Department-rather than from meeting at school or university. And we came from very different beginnings: Steve Hilton, the son of Hungarian immigrants; Michael Gove, the son of a fishmonger; Ed Llewellyn, the son of a naval officer; Andy Coulson, the Essex boy who became a journalist straight out of school; George, whose parents set up a wallpaper company; and me, the half-American daughter of a diplomat. David-himself the son of a stockbroker and a magistrate-hired each of us because we brought something to the table. Ed was not made David's chief of staff because he knew David at school, but because he had already clocked up years of experience working for Chris Patten and Paddy Ashdown. The criticism stuck though, and in some ways it was a good thing, making us all the more determined to reach out. Craig Oliver, Olive Dowden, Ameet Gill, Liz Sugg and Gabby Bertin were completely unknown to David when he hired them to the team. Soon they were counted amongst his closest advisers.-The Gatekeeper, Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_And one of the greatest advantages of the set-up was having my closest colleague living next door. The Osbornes started off staying at their home in Notting Hill, but in August 2011 they decided to move into the No.10 flat. Not only were George and I good friends, but Samantha and Frances were close, and our children became close too. Nancy (George's goddaughter) and Liberty Osborne (my goddaughter) would take it in turns to make unbelievable messes in either of our kitchens through their cooking experiments. And Elwen (George's godson) and Luke Osborne would play various sports in the garden. On Monday nights they would have art classes together, something we have continued with since we all left Downing Street._

_Did the dads ever argue? Often, but never with anger. Together, we found Downing Street a happy place to live and work.-For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

_No love without a little innocence- The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus_

_"Do you really like Wasp Sting, then?" I couldn't help asking._

_"Yes, I do. I love rock and white metal."_

_"I'd've thought you' be into Jam and Sync and classical and music like that" I said._

_Cara tilted her head as she regarded me. "You mean, Cross music as opposed to Nought music?"_

_"I suppose I do."_

_"You're not one of those who think that only Crosses can appreciate Cross music and only Noughts should listen to Nought music, are you?"-Knife Edge, Malorie Blackman_

_I thought you were so cool, Emily said, turning her head a bit to flash Naomi a smile. I had never noticed you much before that; and then after I had noticed you, I couldn't talk to you. And I wanted to, so much, but you were always sulking over in a corner by yourself. And I just wasn't brave enough. You scared me a little, to be honest.-heartfelt declarations of love aside, i think we could make this last forever, majesdane (Skins fanfiction)_

_Alex: OK, don't throw this in my face someday-but sometimes, you can be really smart. Like-smart, smart. I hope you know that._

_Haley: Wow. Thanks._

_(They smile at each other. Haley plays with Alex's hair a little.)_

_Haley (still playing with Alex's hair): And I'm totally throwing that in your face one day, are you kidding?_

_(Alex just smiles.)_

_-Modern Family,s4ep22, "My Hero"_

* * *

"Dad" says Elwen, staring at David wide-eyed over his porridge. "When you and Mr. Milband-"

_"Miliband"_ corrects Nancy.

Elwen rolls his eyes. "When the ghost was coming in-"

"There wasn't a ghost, Elwen" David reminds him gently, buttering his toast. "Mr. Miliband and I just got a bit carried away, that's all."

He pictures Miliband crouched on the sofa, holding a remote control and wonders if that understatement could be allowed under the Trade Descriptions Act.

"Yes, _but-"_ Elwen holds his spoon like a gavel, banging the handle into the table. "When you thought there was a ghost-who would have beaten it up first, Mr. Miliband or you?"

Sam, carefully wiping Florence's mouth round the other side of the table, makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. David frowns at her. "I'm sure if it had been something that needed "beating up", one or other of us could have handled it." He leans over to remove the spoon from his son's hand and place it back in his bowl. "As it turned out, Mr. Miliband proved quite adept with his remote control."

Another snigger from Sam. David sighs. Sam and the kids have listened to his tale of Halloween night (ever since they returned from Michael's house, faces smeared with Halloween make-up, sweets spilling out of their hands, and eyes bright with overexcitement) shaking with laughter and have demanded many retellings since Friday, often accompanied by Nancy getting up to dramatize some of the events, along with embellishments (David is almost positive that at no point had Miliband donned a knight costume to intimidate the phantom.)

"Well-" Sam plants a kiss on David's cheek as she lifts Florence from her chair, their daughter's arms already reaching for David. "It sounds as though you and Mr. Miliband had an interesting evening."

David tries to frown at the smirk playing around his wife's mouth. It isn't as though he was _terrified_ on Friday. He'd simply been-a little perturbed.

"Anyway" Sam says in an undertone, as Florence scrambles happily onto her father's knee. "You and him seem to be getting along a lot better."

David spreads his hands, as best he can with Florence's warm weight now firmly positioned on one knee. "Why does _everyone_ assume we don't get on?" he demands indignantly, though the effect is somewhat lessened by the fact that Florence is now trying to brush his hair with one hand, as he presses a kiss to the soft baby chubbiness of her cheek. "We-get on-"

He stops and searches for the correct word for what it feels like with both of their voices crashing into each other at once, demanding to be heard.

Sam's still watching him with an arched eyebrow and David stares back. "What?"

Sam blinks, then shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. "Oh-just wondering if we're still on for George on Wednesday?"

"Can we have Catherine wheels like last year?" asks Elwen, now scrambling down from the table.

"Probably." David pushes his plate away, as Nancy beats her brother to the door. "Michael can't come, though, I think they've got a prior arrangement-"

Sam gives him a quick wink over Florence's head. "Why don't you invite Ed?"

It takes David a moment to figure out who she's referring to. "Who-_Miliband?"_

Sam shrugs. "Well, why not? Since you two seem to be getting along better now-"

David swallows. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. The idea-which he'd been fully prepared to dismiss out of hand as nonsensical-is not as incomprehensible as he might have guessed. Or liked.

"I-" He glances around to see Sam and Florence with their eyes fixed on him.

"Well-I mean-he probably wouldn't want to come-" he manages awkwardly, but it's a point, now he comes to think of it. Yes, he turned up at Miliband's house on Friday night-but it was unexpected for both of them and events had taken a rather bizarre turn with the lights and that had led to him staying-it would have just been _unfair_ to leave Miliband to deal with everything alone.

But maybe it's simply a one-time thing, something Miliband would never want to repeat.

"How do you know?" Sam asks fairly, kissing Florence's head and for a moment, David wonders if she's read his mind. "You can always ask. He might like the offer even if he can't make it."

David has to grudgingly agree with this. He sighs and says, without looking at Sam "I'll ask him. But-" He fidgets and wonders how he's able to face the opposition benches any Wednesday but finds himself completely helpless when it comes to his own wife.

"But what?"

David sighs and shakes his head. "I'm warning you, he'll say no."

"Come on. Bet me £20. Bet me."

"Fine. Get George to calculate how much you'll owe me."

"It'll be £20, no matter who's right."

"I'm adding interest."

_"Interest?"_ Samantha seems to swell as she turns round to stare at him. "I'll give you _interest-"_

Part of being the Prime Minister is knowing when to end the conversation and David decides right then would be a fantastic moment to leave the room.

* * *

David fully intends to ask Miliband if he would like to join them politely and formally, using a polished greeting phrase.

As Miliband bites into a sandwich, he opens his mouth.

"MilibandIknowyoudon'thavetoifyoudon'twanttobutwouldyouliketocomeoveronBonfireNight-GeorgewillbethereyoucanbringJustineandthekids-but-um-there's-there's no-pressure-"

The sound is mangled, twisted and less coherent than the sounds Flo used to sweetly burble when she was learning to talk. David considers summoning Brown back to the office simply for the task of throwing a phone at his own head.

Miliband's eyes widen slowly as he lowers the sandwich. David feels the blood rise to his cheeks and he swallows. "I mean-I just thought-I wanted to give you an invitation-I mean, I know you probably already have plans-I just-well, you and Justine-and-and the boys, would be very welcome-" His voice tails off and in the long silence that follows, David curses himself for not just texting the invitation to Miliband.

Miliband blinks rather rapidly. "I-" He swallows and David catches himself watching the movement of his throat. "Thank-thank you, Cameron-I mean-that'th-that's very-um-thoughtful-we'd-I mean, we'd be happy to-I'll have to check with Juthtine-but if we're not doing anything, then yes, y-yes-if we're not doing anything, I'd be happy-we'd be happy to-to come." He chews at his lip and then, worriedly, says "Thank you."

David nods slowly. "Yes-yes, well, we'd all like to have you. And-my kids will be there as well, so the boys won't be bored-"

"Oh-oh-yeth, of course-" Miliband's lips twitch. "I mean-I'm sure, they'll be excited enough as it is-I'm thure we're not busy tho we'll be able to come-"

"Right, well-I mean-you know the address-"

Miliband's smirk is becoming more pronounced by the second. "Very thubtle, Cameron."

David smirks back. "You could always bring your remote control, Miliband. You know, in case you want to inspect Downing Street for irascible ghosts."

He leans forward, his arm across Miliband's desk, at the exact same moment as Miliband gently shoves the wrapper towards him. His smirk's still playing about his mouth and their eyes meet at the same moment as Miliband's arm bumps into David's. Their fingers fasten around each other for a split second and David's hand has a confused impression of warmth and skin, Miliband's grip tight around his own.

They both snatch their hands back at the same moment, even as David feels the apology rise in his throat. "Sorry-"

"It'th fine-" Miliband's eyes dart around for a few moments before he offers David an awkward smile. "Zia told me Daniel and th-Sam have been talking about you leaping in for me against ghosts."

David laughs a little too loudly, the heat of Miliband's fingers seeming to linger. "Nancy and Elwen have been re-enacting your stunt with the remote control all weekend. They were a lot more impressed with you than me."

"They sound th-sensible." Miliband smirks at him and David, without thinking, gives his arm a gentle nudge. Miliband's grin grows, deepening what look almost like dimples in his cheeks.

"I have to say, though." David dabs at his mouth with a tissue. "I think they were a little annoyed that I begged off the trick-and-treating . I think sometimes their dad being Prime Minister might not be their favourite thing in the world."

"Is it anyone's?"

"Hilarious." He sighs. "They know how privileged they are-but I suppose it's hard at their age, when sometimes all they see is their dad not being there-"

He pauses, glancing almost anxiously at Miliband, waiting for some remark about _Hopefully, they won't have to deal with that issue in a few months,_ but instead, Miliband just nods, eyes thoughtful as they rest on David's own.

"It'th difficult-" Miliband fumbles with something in his pocket. "Daniel-Daniel athkth why I'm alwayth on the phone." He tries for a laugh but the sound is strained. "It's confusing thometimes, you know. How to make the world a better place for them, but at the thame time-"

"How to be there for them" David finishes softly, and Miliband's eyes meet his again. "Yeth, exactly" he says quietly, and he brings his hand up, holding, David is amused to see, a Rubix Cube. Miliband turns it over and over in his fingers, apparently unconsciously, as he talks. "I mean, you try to eth-xplain to them but it'th hard for them to take in at that age-

"How old are the boys again?"

A ghost of a smile flickers across Miliband's mouth. "Five and almotht four. Yours'?"

"Ten, eight and Florence's four too."

Miliband laughs. "Like th-Sam, nearly." He shakes his head. "I'm th-sorry." He colours but David acts as if he hasn't heard. He's used to Miliband's lisp by now.

"I shouldn't be making thith about me" Miliband continues, a little more clearly. "You were talking about-"

David shakes his head. "It's fine. We're dealing with the same issue, really. For once."

Miliband laughs, the Rubix Cube spinning a little more slowly now. "And you've admitted it, Cameron. For once."

David shakes his head. "I might have known this couldn't last."

Miliband's still spinning the Rubix Cube and David stares at the quick movement of Miliband's long fingers, almost a blur of motion. They slow a little as he catches sight of David's eyes on them.

"What?" he says, a crack in his voice that makes David glance up, his brow furrowed. For a moment, he wants to touch Miliband's fingers, quicken them again.

"Nothing" he says hurriedly, scrabbling for words to take his own mind off Miliband's fingers. "I was just thinking-"

Miliband's eyes meet his and David swallows, the air suddenly a little heavier, the moment stretched taut between them. David's eyes fall on the Rubix Cube.

"If you're as good at balancing your children and work as you are at balancing that and conversation-" Miliband's fingers are making quick work of the puzzle. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Miliband's smile is something that sends David grinning too, and that makes it easier to forget that that statement is partly a white lie.

(Miliband would say no lie's white. David would then say that it's a truth and a lie and Miliband would say there's no such thing.)

(Typical bloody Miliband.)

* * *

** _Daniel and Sam are greatly anticipating their visit to Downing Street on Wednesday._ **

_You can come, then?_

** _No, Cameron. We're letting you adopt them both._ **

_And your keen sense of humour is back._

** _Hilarious. Is there anything you would like us to bring?_ **

_No. No price of admission :)_

_ **That's rare under your government.** _

_Well, we decided to branch out. By the way, Nancy wants you to know that she hopes there's a ghost so you can save us all with a remote control._

** _Tell Nancy if Downing Street happens to be haunted, I will be more than happy to oblige._ **

_I would pay money to witness that, Miliband._

** _Taxpayers' money._ **

_Labour's department, not ours._

** _Rich for the party raising taxes._ **

_Rich for the party spending money._

** _Rich, Cameron? Really?_ **

_You used it first!_

_**That was to see if you picked up on the irony**._

_Really, Miliband? Really?_

** _By the way, what time on Wednesday?_ **

_I saw the subject change. And about five, if that's all right._

** _Subject transition. And that should be fine. Daniel and Sam are very excited._ **

_So are ours'. Florence is too big a fireworks fan._

** _Which means?_ **

_Last year we caught her trying to grab one. So, huge safety precautions followed._

** _Would you like us to bring any (obviously kept out of reach of fire-loving minors)?_ **

_Yes, if you've got any. No need, if not, though. All children kept away from dangers. (Including Labour's policies.)_

** _Well, I'd advise caution. It's not exactly a new experience to see Tory plans go up in flames._ **

_Flames set by Labour._

** _Is that so?_ **

_An admission? And I'm being informed by Florence that I'm neglecting my bedtime story duty, so I will speak tomorrow._

** _Not quite. And I'll speak to you tomorrow. Make sure the book isn't flammable if Florence is such a fan of fireworks._ **

_Like Labour's policies? :)_

** _Emoticons again?_ **

_:)_

** _Eloquent. Goodnight, Cameron._ **

_Goodnight, Miliband._

* * *

"We go Mr. Cameron's house" Sam announces to Daniel, banging his fork down on the table so that Zia swipes it away from him. "For Bo-fire Night."

"I know" Daniel says, with all the wisdom of an elder brother. "It's _Bon-_fire Night."

Sam's face falls. Ed winces for him. A memory flashes briefly of himself excitedly bouncing up to David to tell him he had figured out Father Christmas couldn't be real because there were several holes in the theory and David just looking at him with one raised eyebrow and saying "Of course he's not real, Ed. We were just waiting for _you_ to work it out." He remembered the way he had blinked, wrong-footed, as David turned back to his work and the lump that had swelled in his throat as the knowledge rooted him to the spot, that sure, sure feeling that everyone was older and wiser and smirking over his shoulder, waiting for him to catch up.

"Daniel" he says, voice a little sharper than usual. "Don't be unkind, pleathe, th-sweetie."

Zia turns at his tone and Daniel's eyes widen. Ed instantly feels like the worst father in the world. He tries to ruffle Daniel's hair awkwardly, wondering if that's how you're meant to tell your children off, if that's gentle enough.

Sam tugs at Daniel's sleeve. "Mr. Cameron's house" he says again. "And we get to see fie-works-and Daddy wants to steal Mr. Cameron's house."

Ed splutters on his tea. The children look up at him wide-eyed as Ed struggles for words.

"What-where did you-" For one mad moment, Ed wonders if the children have somehow gained access to the tabloids, before he remembers that people have said a lot of things but so far no one has labelled him a house-breaker.

"You go to take Mr. Cameron's house" Daniel says, as if he's talking about the weather. "If you win the 'lection-"

"No-" Ed shakes his head. "No, Daniel, I'm-" He sighs. "Mr. Cameron-if I win-will have another houthe to go to and it's only if I win-"

"But we don't have to _move_ house." Daniel nibbles happily at his toast crust. "You just have to be there in the _day."_

Ed takes a longer sip of his tea than he needs to.

"Why are you drinking _tea?"_ Daniel takes another bite of his toast, apparently unperturbed. "Is it going to answer for you?"

Ed suppresses the urge to tell his son that if it wasn't for the fact politics is the one area he never wants his children to go into, he'd be a natural.

The fact is, he and Justine haven't agreed on what to tell the children about moving house. But he can feel Zia's eyes on him and after taking as long as humanly possible to lower his cup to the table, he says, "No, Daniel, we're not going to move house."

"Good." Daniel continues munching his toast and Ed keeps his eyes on the table, hating the lie that hangs in the air between them, half-regretting his decision to come down to the basement and see the boys before Zia takes them to school.

"But you take house" says Sam and Ed sighs. "No, Sam. It's a tradition."

Sam blinks up at him, three-year-old confusion.

"But you and Mr. Cameron are friends" says Daniel calmly, now dancing a piece of crust along the rim of his plate.

Ed swallows. "Well-" He stares at his two sons, neither of whom are really looking at him enough, and lets the question dangle in the air between them, which prevents him having to think too hard about whether or not he could class Cameron as his friend.

"Stealing _wrong"_ Sam announces, banging his fork again. "Daddy's a t-eaf."

"Daddy's not a thief" Daniel informs his brother. "Daddy _wants_ to be a thief."

* * *

It's when he's near the door, dragging the coat further round his shoulders that he bumps into Justine, who's already on her way out, pulling her helmet on. 

"I was just talking to the boyth" he tells her, and she blinks, as though she's forgotten for a moment that they have children. "Zia's getting them ready-"

"Good" she says, zipping up her coat. "That's-"

"Look, they were-" Ed glances back at the door that leads down to the basement. "I think it might be time to tell them-they were talking about moving-"

Justine blinks.

"If they're picking up on it-"

"It's just-" Justine sighs, re-checking her bicycle bag. "It's a bit too close to measuring the curtains, Ed."

"Getting them ready isn't measuring the curtains."

"We can look at it again nearer the time-"

"And what if we don't have time nearer the time?" He hasn't asked Zia about it, but the thought of simply springing such a big decision on the boys with less than a few days to get used to the idea-let alone in the glare of press and camera flashes and everything else there will be to contend with if this should even ever become necessary-jolts slightly even with him.

Justine sighs. "Ed, we're talking about something that-" The pause is only for a second but he hears it and then she's saying "Isn't going to happen until May" but Ed heard the unspoken words between them and he swallows hard, debating on whether or not to say it, to bring it out in the open-

"We still need to tell them" he says, his voice lower now. "Otherwise-if it-it'll just come as a shock."

Justine's arms are folded, a sure sign that she's digging in on something. "I just don't-want us to get ahead" she says, zipping up her coat more firmly. "I mean-let's just take one day at a time-"

"This_ is_ taking one day at a time" he argues. "It's just-anticipating one of the days a little earlier."

"Ed, we talked about this, and we agreed, we _agreed_ we shouldn't be measuring the curtains-"

"This isn't measuring the curtains. This is-putting the curtains into boxes. Buying the curtains. _Moving_ the curtains."

The thing is, measuring the curtains, while it might not be real enough to grab onto quite yet is still there, and the thought of their sons not having a clue that this time next year, they might not be in the house they know, in the rooms they know, is something else altogether.

Justine sighs, as if he's another troublesome client. "Ed-"

He closes his eyes because he's got to get to work and he can't have this argument right now. "Fine. We'll discuss it later."

"Ed-all the books say it's bad to unsettle children for no reason. This is the area they know, and their school-we worked hard to get them into that school-"

"I know" he says but he can hear loud and clear what he's not saying-their boys might end up being unsettled anyway and they might have to accept what they don't want to get what they do want.

But then Justine's bustling out the door, calling out a "Bye, chaps" over her shoulder, and Ed's left wondering if the boys can actually hear her down in the basement and when she last went down to see them before she left for work.

* * *

Lunch after Prime Minister's Questions is one of the times David is grateful for his and Miliband's naturally combative relationship-sooner or later, one of them's throwing another line at the other and the previous ones darting across the Chamber are forgotten.

Today proves no different. Miliband is waiting outside David's office with a sandwich. "Here" he says, handing it over. "I was thinking of, you know, getting nothing, from a nothing leader-"

David rolls his eyes. "Thanks" he says, taking the sandwich. "Are you still able to come, tonight? I wouldn't know being a-"don't-know Prime Minister-""

Miliband laughs and David resists the urge to do the same. He wonders if any other politicians, Prime Minister or otherwise, have had this strange a relationship with anyone.

He keeps the joking up throughout lunch which saves him having to ponder the rather disconcerting fact that he might have just thought of whatever he and Miliband have as a _relationship._

* * *

"Libbie's looking forward to tonight" says George as David buttons his shirt, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. "Luke's going through the stage where nothing we do is good enough for him so we might as well get the last few moments with Libbie before she gets swallowed up into the Teenage Coven of Gloom."

David laughs. "You might want to save Nancy on the same rescue mission. I mean, she's started on the quest for pierced ears, already."

"Oh God. So's Liberty-they must be swapping notes-"

David laughs. "Luke gracing us with his presence tonight?"

"Oh, Frances will make sure of it. Unless it would be easier for you if we locked him up?"

"Handling Nancy's debates would make Luke a welcome relief."

"Sounds like Nancy could give Miliband a run for his money."

"Speaking of Miliband-" David straightens his collar, presses a kiss to Sam's cheek as she brushes past him into the bathroom. "He's coming."

"Really?"

"Yes." If there's one thing David's learnt-whether it's in politics or facing three irate children-it's to sound firm. He swallows and waits for George's reaction.

"Tell him to be careful with the tea-"

"George, let the tea _go."_

George is already laughing. "It's a joke, Dave. Are his kids-"

"Yep, and Justine. They're lovely boys, you know. Very bright."

"How old are they again?"

"Sam's a couple of months younger than Flo and Daniel's a year older."

"Ah. You know-" And George tails off. "You and Miliband seem to have vacated Portcullis House recently."

David blinks at the abrupt shift in conversation but quickly recovers himself. "Well, I suppose we've just had a lot to discuss" he manages, dragging his mind back to the last time he sat in Portcullis House. Now that he thinks about it, it has to be a while-a couple of weeks, at least.

"Well, you know, he _is_ welcome" says George, a little awkwardly. "We're not going to turn Miliband into the kid who has to eat alone in the corner."

"That's a load off my mind."

George laughs and the awkward moment shatters between them. "Dave-" He swallows. "Look-you know I don't have anything against Miliband?"

David swallows. "I know" he says, voice soft, and it isn't a lie.

George clears his throat before resuming, sounding more like his usual self. "Anyway. I'm sure it will be enjoyable-"

"Well, Boris is dropping in. If conversation fails-"

George is still laughing when David hangs up the phone.

* * *

George is there, ten minutes later, with the obligatory "We got lost in the corridor" line, which as David gently points out, he's been using since 2010. Luke mumbles a hello and Liberty beelines straight for Nancy, and the two of them stand whispering together, with an occasional pre-teen eye roll at everyone around them. David watches as Florence and Elwen tug at Luke's sleeve, as the older boy struggles to maintain his aura of teenage aloofness.

It's Frances who says over Sam's shoulder, with a smile "Justine's coming tonight, isn't she?"

David blinks. Then it hits him. "I always forget you two are friends" he remarks, gently lifting Florence up and ruffling Elwen's hair, guiding him back to give Luke a chance to recover his teenage dignity.

It's then that Nancy and Liberty break off their whispered conversation to exchange glances. "Is Ed Miliband coming, Dad?"

David pauses in the act of tidying Florence's hair to say "Yes he is, Nancy. With his family. And it's Mr.Miliband, remember."

"That's not what you call him."

George snorts and Frances gives him what looks suspiciously like an elbow in the ribs. David wonders if there is any political opponent more terrifying than one's own ten-year-old daughter. "Well, it's what _you're_ going to call him" he says firmly, and it's Elwen who turns suddenly and says, a grin almost splitting his face in two, "Can I ask him about the remote control on Friday?"

David knows the moment he sees George's face that while there may be few political opponents more terrifying than one's ten-year-old daughter, one's eight-year-old son may come close.

A retelling of the tale follows, with Nancy and Liberty both chipping in additional details. "I wasn't aware either of you were there" David says reprovingly at one stage and Nancy sighs and says with an arched eyebrow, "But you aren't aware of lots of things, Daddy" which prompts George, the traitor, to cheer, while their mothers try to hide their smiles. Even Luke cracks a grin at the chaos.

Nancy and Libbie both give their fathers pained looks as they try to share their own knowledge and David and George are left facing reassurance from their wives as they catch the tail end of Liberty's dark mutter "It's their age..."

* * *

With a buffet already set up in the flat upstairs and the children happy to wander downstairs and out into the gardens with paper plates ("This could be our next tagline" George jokes. _"We Have Paper Plates, Too")_David grins when his phone vibrates and he reads Miliband's message.

** _En route. Accompanied by children incapable of realising that angry screaming does not lead to achievement._ **

David grins and types back_ They take after their father? :)_

** _I'm too busy laughing to send an eloquent reply_**

_:)_

** _Which you're clearly taking care of for me. Be there in ten minutes._ **

_Looking forward to seeing you_. The moment David hits send, he winces.

The reply comes through a few moments later. **_Likewise._**

David smiles at the phone, feeling an absurd sense of relief as he walks into the kitchen. He can hear the shrieks of the children out of the window, as they engage in a game of tag in the rose gardens, each wrapped up in several layers of clothing.

David tugs at his shirt collar, examining his reflection in the back of a saucepan. He's just wondering if he's chosen the right shirt, when another figure appears behind him and nearly gives him a heart attack.

"Sorry" George says, now filling a glass at the sink. "Staff are more than busy with the buffet and Sam's outside."

"Where's Frances?"

"Trying to persuade Luke to make eye contact with someone. Nancy and Liberty are watching some Zoella person on Libbie's phone. Where's Gita, by the way?"

"Gave her a night off, she's with her husband." David rakes his hand through his hair.

George frowns at him. "Problem?"

David sighs. "Just wondering if I picked the right shirt."

George looks as if David has quietly requested he punch a fish for fun. "Dave" he says, after a few moments apparently spent recovering his power of speech. "Nancy's in the garden-I'm sure if it's fashion sense you-"

"Hilarious" David mutters. "I just mean that-I mean, is it casual-"

George shakes his head. "I can't believe we're actually discussing this, but you said "casual." Like you do every year. And you look casual." Suddenly, he looks concerned. "Miliband's not going to turn up in a _suit_, is he?"

"No, no" David says distractedly, still gazing at the saucepan. "I was pretty clear-" He stares down at his own shirt. "I just-I don't know."

George raises an eyebrow. "David, if you've suffered a mental breakdown and need us to take over the running of the country, I'm sure Nick won't mind."

"You could just give the job to Nancy" David mutters. "She'd have Lib in your job, _Mean Girls_ and _Frozen_ compulsory viewing-it would be like Disneyfied North Korea by Christmas."

George sniggers. "At least you've still got your sense of humour. You didn't lose that when you started quoting _Frozen_ and dressing up for Miliband-"

David's shoulders jerk as if he's been shot. "What do you mean by-" George eyes him with interest and David feels the blood rise to his cheeks-even though there's obviously no _reason_ for it. "I am not-_dressing up_ for _Ed Miliband."_

George stares at him, before a grin curls his mouth and his eyes widen. "I was joking but-" His eyes widen. _"Are_ you?"

David stares at him. "Have you gone insa-"

George is already laughing and David tries to glare at him. "This is childish, you know."

George is laughing even harder now and David rolls his eyes. "Honestly," he mutters, bending down to lift some more plates. "It's like something one of the kids would come out with. I can picture Nancy saying it now. _"Ooh, Daddy, are you dressing up for your girlfriend, Mr. Miliband-""_

George clears his throat rather ostentatiously and David turns round to see Nancy and Liberty standing behind him, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

David coughs. "Hello, darling."

Libbie merely arches her eyebrow a little higher but Nancy folds her arms even tighter across her chest. "We wanted Doritos."

David swallows. "As many as you want."

Nancy nods as she and Liberty head for the cupboard. David and George exchange a glance as David dares to breathe out.

"By the way-" Nancy says as she passes a packet of Doritos to Libbie-"-You got that wrong. Mr. Miliband would be your boyfriend, not your girlfriend."

George explodes into laughter and David turns round to see Sam and Frances now standing in the doorway.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "I don't even want to know."

David shakes his head. "Oh, for-"

"Be careful." George winks at Nancy and Liberty, who both dart out the door, giggling. "Don't want to spill Dorito dust on the shirt you wore for Miliband."

Frances is already laughing. "That's more than George does for me."

"Thanks a lot!"

David turns to Sam but she's already smirking. "So _that's _the reason you've been agonizing over your clothing choices."

"Oh, for God's sake-"

"Thirty five minutes he spent choosing what to wear tonight" Sam informs the others.

"Thanks, Sam-"

Frances lets out a whistle. "Sounds like love."

David almost drops the tray of canapes he's holding. "I am-" He's spluttering. "I am not _in love-"_

"Ah, you're blushing." Sam puts her arms around his shoulders.

"I am not blushing-"

"Because you want to go out with Mr. Miliband." David splutters wordlessly at the sight of Elwen calmly reaching for a chocolate bar.

George puts a hand on David's arm. "Well, this could look very progressive for the government, very progressive indeed-"

"Hilarious."

The door buzzes and David knows before he even reaches the hallway who it's going to be.

* * *

Ed has hardly taken a step into the flat above 11 Downing Street before Cameron is in front of him, saying "By the way, if anyone asks if you're in love with me when you come in, just ignore them."

Ed blinks. "I'm not sure which one of us I hope you're talking to."

David shakes his head. "Long story."

"Sounds like one" Justine laughs, as she lifts Sam a little higher, even as he makes a disgruntled sound and leans away from his mother.

Ed holds out the bottle of wine, which David takes, looking delighted. "Just a token-"

"Thanks." David presses a kiss to Justine's cheek and Ed feels a surge of _something _in his chest that makes him glad that David pulls away quickly. A moment later, Ed's lifting Daniel higher, urging "Th-say hello to Mr. Cameron, Daniel-" with the thought still nagging at him at how ridiculous that surge of feeling was-what was he imagining, that _Cameron_ would be interested in _Justine-_

"Hi, Mr. Cameron" Daniel choruses, wriggling until he's lowered to the floor. David just ruffles his hair. Sam is shyer, ducking away, but peering at David from underneath his dark curls.

David laughs and stands back, holding out his hand. Ed places a hand on Daniel's shoulder, shifting him aside awkwardly, as he holds out his own, and then blinks as David's hand heads higher than he's expecting. Ed swallows as David pats his shoulder. "Glad you came" and David's voice is a little lower now, so that just Ed and he can hear as he says "Even if you'll be planning where to hang the curtains."

Ed laughs, lets his hand brush David's sleeve. "It's nithe to see you facing facts, Cameron."

David laughs, the sound low in his chest, and Ed takes him in. David's wearing a light blue shirt and Ed swallows-he's only seen Cameron out of shirt and tie a few times and as he drags his gaze back up the thought hits him that Cameron's eyes are bluer than he's noticed before.

"Justine!" Frances appears in the doorway as David guides them down the corridor and into the kitchen, and Justine really beams for the first time Ed can remember that evening. George steps forward to greet them all, grinning at Ed. "Nice to see you, Miliband."

"Daniel and th-Sam" Ed says, indicating both of his sons, before David chips in to his wife, who's ruffling each of the boys' hair, "Sam and Florence are almost the same age."

On cue, Florence runs into the kitchen, pouting. "Mummy, I can't find _Larry_-"

"Oh, darling, it's OK-" Samantha's already lifting her. "Larry's upstairs, sweetheart, we didn't want him to be scared of the fireworks."

"Ignore Luke" George advises her, already approaching the window and scanning the garden for his son. "He's a teenager. Which means he's forgotten that we once watched him walk around the garden in his mum's high heels."

"Well, they all do that when they're little."

"That would be comforting if it wasn't last week." George winks at Florence, who's already giggling. "Joke."

David presses a kiss to Florence's head as Samantha hands first Justine, then Ed, glasses of wine-Ed knows Justine won't drink much of it. Daniel's already toddling after Elwen, and Florence gives them an anguished look, wailing "You won't let me _play-"_

In Justine's arms, Sam is also struggling.

"Daniel didn't _wait"_ he says, the last word ripped a little higher in almost-four-year-old anguish. Ed tenses, scrabbling for any thought of what he's supposed to do if one of the children throws a tantrum.

"Sam-"he warns but Justine is already lowering him to the floor. Ed feels a pang, but then notices Samantha gently guiding Florence's attention towards him, taking in her puckered little lip.

"Flo" Samantha says gently. "This is Sam. He's four, like you."

Florence stares at Sam for a long moment before she reaches out and touches his hand gently. "My name _Florence"_ she says, the threat of tears now gone from her voice.

Sam holds up his other hand. "I _nearly_ four" he says and Florence nods. "I _four"_ she says.

David bends down to look at her. "Do you want to look after Sam, Flo?"

Florence stares at her father and Ed smiles awkwardly as she fixes her big blue-eyed gaze on him for a moment. "Yes" she says, after a few moments of careful deliberation and she takes Sam's hand.

Samantha ruffles both of their hair. Florence stares at Sam for a moment before she leans into Sam and, in a stage whisper that carries round the whole room, says into his ear "Sam, don't tell anybody but my daddy's the Prime Minister."

There's a ripple of laughter but Sam stares at her solemnly for a moment. The he leans forward and says, in an even louder whisper, "My daddy _wants_ to be Prime Min-ster."

George almost collapses in laughter. Ed lets his own smile broaden as his eyes meet David's, whose face is wreathed in laughter as the two children gaze solemnly round at the adults.

"They're _grown-ups"_ Florence informs Sam calmly. "Come on, I'll show you where you can _hide."_

Ignoring the renewed laughter, Florence tugs Sam by the hand towards the stairs that lead down to the back gardens.

David turns to Ed. "My daughters could see me out of a job."

Ed laughs. "Is that an admission, Cameron?"

"Would I tell you if it was?" But David's grinning as the women detach into a smaller group and Nick and George join David and Ed. Ed chances another snatched look at him and notices David's eyes lingering on his shirt.

Ed glances down at it quickly. It's a dark blue that Rachel had picked out for him for a photo shoot at home-Ed was just happy that it fit and it was clean. (He'd have happily applied this logic to most of his clothing.)

He glances up to see David hastily averting his gaze, before his eyes slowly travel back to Ed's.

"I was just-" David swallows and busies himself lifting a carton of mango juice. "Um-your shirt-it's-um-very nice-"

Ed blinks at him but before the conversation can go any further, they're interrupted by two young girls crashing through the door.

Ed's gaze falls on the two young girls. They're huddled together, whispering with the occasional muffled giggle, and they're both staring at him. Ed smiles uncertainly back at them. This makes the darker-haired one giggle even more.

David glances at them, apparently unperturbed by the giggling. "Oh-Ed, this is my daughter, Nancy" he says, indicating the other girl-the darker-haired one is now helpless with laughter. George steps forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. "And this is mine" he says, with a chuckle and a ruffle of the girl's hair, which immediately makes her squirm and pull away with a loud _"Da-ad."_ George rolls his eyes. "This is Libbie. Liberty."

Liberty's blushing as she replies "Hi" but Nancy is the one who enquires in a louder voice "Are we allowed to call you Ed or Mr.Miliband?"

"Nancy, I _warned_ you-"

Nancy shrugs. "You always say that people should ask the difficult questions."

Ed looks at David with a grin. "You can call me Ed" he says to Nancy, who nods, looking somewhat mollified. "Hello, Mr Ed Miliband." She holds out her hand and Ed takes it slightly awkwardly. "Nithe to meet you, Nanthy."

Nancy's expression doesn't change but when their hands fall apart, she stares at him for a long moment. She isn't smiling, though. Instead, there's something in her expression that's more curious.

David meets Ed's eyes and the two stare at one another for a moment, a smirk playing at David's lips before he turns to ask "Nancy, can you check on Flo and Sam?"

"We already did!" This is called from across the kitchen, the two girls already retreating to the door, heading back to the gardens.

George has turned to speak to his wife as Cameron's eyes roam back to Ed's and he raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps the shirt was too nice, Miliband."

Ed's face is too hot for comfort and Cameron grins. "Charming George's daughter, apparently-"

Ed swallows. "You think I'm charming, Cameron?"

The words hang in the air between them and Ed feels his cheeks grow warmer, as he realises just how the words sound.

Cameron smiles and Ed hears himself begin to stutter. "I-I mean-I-I don't mean-I mean,um, I-I-"

Cameron's grinning now. "I know you have trouble with inferring meaning, Miliband-" The peace could only have lasted so long. "But I'd have thought what I said was obvious."

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again. It's at that moment that he looks around the kitchen and becomes all too aware of the fact that somehow, in the course of their exchange, the rest of the adults have vacated the kitchen and he has somehow ended up alone with Cameron.

Cameron seems to realise at the same moment and they both point to the door simultaneously. "Shall we-"

Ed follows him and tells himself that Cameron can't go five minutes without trying to demonstrate his wit. And that the only reason his cheeks are burning is because it's warm for November.

* * *

Forty five minutes later, with adults and children alike having helped themselves to the buffet, Frances and Justine are catching up, filling Sam in on the conversation. Liberty and Nancy, meanwhile, are standing in a small huddle across the garden. Nancy keeps sneaking glances at the adults, as does Liberty, though with slightly different expressions.

George nudges Ed in the ribs. "My daughter keeps looking at you."

Ed splutters, blushing. George snorts.

"Well, ever since Boris showed up-" David claps Boris on the shoulder, grinning when the blond-haired man turns with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "Luke's been looking a little more animated."

"Well-" Boris bites into a sausage roll. "I sincerely hope not by myself."

"I doubt it" George mutters and Boris looks at him, askance. He points the sausage roll like a weapon. "I'd avenge my besmirched name but I am currently occupied partaking in culinary delights."

David almost doubles over laughing. Ed watches him, feeling a smile twitch at his own lips at the way David_-Cameron_-laughs. Cameron straightens up, apparently slowly regaining the ability to speak and manages to blurt out "I meant Cassia."

Boris blinks. "Cassia? My _daughter _Cassia?"

Cameron frowns. "I don't exactly know many Cassias.

"Well, with all the Tories here, you can see how he'd make the mistake."

Cameron swats his arm and Ed feels an odd jump in his stomach.

"Maybe it's just something to do with our genes" Cameron says, his voice lower now so just Ed can hear. "Your Sam seems to love my daughter."

Ed glances across the garden at Sam, who is currently beaming at Florence from under his messy dark curls, while she claps their hands together, her voice high and fluting, childish laughter bursting through the gardens.

Cameron nudges him. "Not going to warn your son off a Tory girl?"

Ed raises an eyebrow. "Tory girl? Already planning for the next Tory leader, Cameron?"

Cameron gives him a quick wink, which sends a sharp jolt of something through Ed's chest. "Nurture them young."

"Oh, shut up" says Ed unthinkingly but any urge to apologize vanishes when Cameron dissolves into laughter.

Cameron's laughter's quiets and Ed becomes aware that the other man's gaze is resting on him. He turns round and both of them step back at the same moment as he realises they've somehow moved so close to one another that his arm's brushing Cameron's.

"Wha-" he starts to say but is cut off by Cameron indicating the house with a quick jerk of the head and saying "Come inside a moment?"

It's a question rather than a command which Ed tells himself is what throws him off and not the fact that Cameron-rather awkwardly-touches his elbow as he indicates the building. Either way, somehow he ends up moving without thinking about it, and before he knows what's happening, he's following Cameron back up the spiral staircase into Downing Street.

It's Cameron who turns and says with something that could almost be a wink "Not measuring up the curtains yet, are you, Miliband?"

Ed rolls his eyes. "Really, Cameron?"

Cameron's hand brushes his arm. "Joking." His eyes linger on Ed's for a moment and, as they wander back through the flat, Ed suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He feels the colour rise in his cheeks and immediately fixes his gaze on one of the portraits on the walls, which he recognizes vaguely as one that hung here during Gordon's time, feeling the weight of Cameron's gaze on him.

When Cameron leads him into one of the living rooms, Ed's gaze falls on the bookshelves. He remembers being a schoolboy, the feeling of relief that would wash over him whenever he entered the school library, the rows and rows of tomes laid out in front of him, waiting to be explored.

Cameron follows his gaze and a small smile twitches at his mouth at Ed's rapt gaze. "Wish my children looked like that when it's time to do their reading homework" he remarks, pulling out one of the volumes. "Though to be fair, they are quite keen, usually."

Ed approaches the shelves almost without thinking, finger running along the spine of one of the books. He can feel Cameron watching him but his eyes are taken up with the titles. There're novels, biographies, politics-even cookbooks.

"This is-" He realises the stupidity of the remark, even as he says it. " A lot of books" he finishes, feeling like an idiot, but Cameron's eyes drift to his with a small smile. Ed stares at them and then Cameron steps up beside him, gently guiding Ed's attention to a book he's holding.

"Oh-I've read this-" Ed takes it carefully, worried about damaging it even slightly. "Iain Macleod?"

Cameron nods, and lets his sleeve brush Ed's. "Here, open it" he says, voice suddenly a lot quieter. Ed does, careful to only let his fingers brush the pages (he and Cameron might not agree often, but he's hardly going to destroy his possessions.)

Ed blinks at the author's signature on the front page, and then lifts his eyes to Cameron's. "You got it signed?"

Cameron shrugs. "A friend did it. Tracey Emin gave me that More Passion sign, the one over the Terracotta Room downstairs."

Ed smirks. "Trying to make me jealous, Cameron?"

He expects a vehement denial but Cameron just smirks in a way that means Ed can't help grinning back. "I am glad you came tonight" Cameron tells him quietly. "I-I was a little worried you wouldn't." He clears his throat a little too loudly, turns back to the bookshelves, and Ed stares at him, at the colour creeping up Cameron's cheeks.

"I thaid I'd come" he says quietly, and his voice is far softer than he expected. "Don't trust me, Cameron?"

The words are light but there's an edge of sadness to them, and Cameron turns to him with a small smile. "Do you really want me to answer that, Miliband?"

Ed smiles at him and then Cameron's hand brushes his elbow and he says, voice lower "I did trust your word on tonight, though. I suppose-" Cameron hesitates for a moment and then shakes his head. "Doesn't matter" he says and Ed feels an irrational surge of disappointment that he can't shake. He supposes he rarely sees this side of Cameron-the vulnerable, fallible side-and there's a part of him that's already missing it, wanting to see it again.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Cameron stares up at the ceiling, absent-mindedly running his finger over the spine of a book. "I mean, to think that-" He laughs suddenly. "I still forget, sometimes-" He replaces a book carefully, runs his hands through his hair. "And I've been here for five years. But sometimes, it just hits you, you know-I mean, how many people have lived here. It's-" Another laugh, a little thinner this time. "A little intimidating, to be honest with you."

Ed stares at him and then takes a step closer to him. "Th-spare a thought for me" he says, keeping his tone light. "If I ever move in here, it'll be after you and then in addition to all the previous leaders, I'll have the thought of you haunting the place."

Cameron's eyebrow arches. "I don't plan to be dead, Miliband."

"You'd probably find a way to haunt the place without death-"

"Thanks for the implication I belong here so deeply." Cameron gives him that stupid, Etonian, smug grin-that stupid, Etonian, smug grin that Ed always ends up smiling at. Which is incredibly annoying, especially right now.

But he says "Thanks for showing me the book" and then carefully passes it back to Cameron. Cameron shoots him a curious look and Ed says "I-" He's already regretting starting the sentence but he rushes it out, anyway. "I-suppose I'm always a little-nervous when I'm holding people's things. I juth-just-um-"

He can't finish the sentence but Cameron nods as if he understands. "It can be a bit of a minefield. Like the time Flo nearly pulled off the Queen's brooch as a baby. Thought we might be about to be sent to the Tower for a few moments there."

Ed's grinning but Cameron shakes his head. "Sorry" he says, voice a lot quieter than usual. "I-seem to keep bringing the conversation back to me."

Ed smirks, more easily this time. "That'th hardly new, Cameron."

Cameron gives him a grin and a touch on the arm-a gentle, remonstrating pat that for some reason makes Ed bite his lip, quickly ducking his gaze to avoid Cameron's eyes.

"Thank you" he says, and the room suddenly seems a little warmer. "For tonight."

Cameron pulls at a button. "It's fine" he says, that clipped, Eton edge to the words back in his voice. "I wanted you here."

Ed's eyes drift to Cameron's and after a few moments, Cameron gives him a small, almost shy smile that rather belies the tone. Ed chews at his lip but can't help but smile back.

* * *

They're smiling when they step into the garden and are almost immediately cornered by their wives. Ed blinks, wondering if some unspeakable tragedy has occurred, but judging by the smiles he sees wherever he looks, that isn't the case.

"What-" he starts, but it's Samantha who says, clearly trying to hide a grin, "Apparently, our kids have something to tell you."

Ed blinks at the sight of Sam and Florence, both regarding him and Cameron with expressions of utmost solemnity. Boris is standing between Samantha and Justine, biting his lip in an apparent attempt to stifle laughter. Liberty and Luke appear to be engaged in a game on one of their phones while Elwen and Daniel are chasing one another around. Nancy, however, is nowhere to be seen.

"Dad" Sam says solemnly. "Me and Flo-ence are enraged."

Ed blinks. "What-" he begins but his words are drowned out in the sudden gale of laughter that erupts.

"No, no, honey-" Samantha laughs. "It's en-gaged, not enraged. Engaged."

Sam looks up at his father, as the laughter dies down and sounds the word out carefully. "En-ga-ged."

There's a long moment of silence, during which Ed does his best to wipe any hint of a grin off his face. "I see" he says, while next to him, David's shoulders shake as he bites his lip and Ed digs him in the ribs. "Whose idea was that then?"

Florence beams happily up at her father. _"Mine,_ Daddy-it means you go to get married and there's a big wedding _dress-"_

David nods. "Well-" There's a pause during which David glances down at his shoes, squeezing his lips tightly together, before looking once again at his daughter. "Did you ask Sam to marry you?" Ed's pleased to see that it's not just him struggling to keep his composure. 

Florence, merrily oblivious, shakes her head. "No" she announces proudly. "I _told_ Sam to ask me."

"I see" David says, while Sam reaches one hand up to Ed who reaches out and takes it while his son carefully lifts Florence's hand too.

"_Ring" _Sam informs them solemnly and Ed blinks at them. "A ring?"

Florence, smiling, holds out her hand. Adorning her ring finger, nestled just over her knuckle, is a small red-and-white Haribo ring.

"I see" says Ed as Florence proudly turns her hand this way and that until they've admired the ring from every angle. "Well-that certainly is a lovely ring."

"Exquisite" David remarks, having recovered himself a little. "It looks lovely, darling."

Florence beams. Sam smiles proudly at his father.

"Well-" Samantha plants a kiss in her daughter's hair. "Since I don't think the two of you will be getting married _just_ yet, would you like to see the fireworks?"

This triggers a round of excited squeals.

Ed swallows as Samantha and the others lead the children off and turns to David who, now that they are safely out of earshot, has apparently felt it safe enough to give full vent to his humour.

"Well-" He can't help but smirk as David wipes his eyes. "Apparently, they can conquer a class divide."

"A class divide?" Now, David's laughing even harder. _"A class divide?"_

"Oh, you know what I-"

"We do the _same job,_ Miliband-"

"Actually, Cameron, I think you'll find there's quite a difference between leading the opposition and leading the _country-"_

"Oh, for goodness' sake-"

The argument goes back and forth for a while until Florence comes running up with her arms up and Sam pops her head in between them with the cautionary announcement "I don't think our children will be thrilled with their in-laws fighting" at exactly the same moment Osborne pops up and does a double-take at the word "in-laws."

"Either the marriage age has lowered considerably" he says mildly, taking a sip of his drink. "Or I've been gone a lot longer than I thought."

Cameron, still laughing, begins to launch into an explanation for his friend, with Florence chipping in with her own details. Even though Cameron's eyes meet Osborne's every few moments, they stray over and over again to his daughter's face and there's a look there of such tenderness that Ed can't help but keep watching them, drinking in that look on Cameron the way he holds his daughter so gently, the way he stares at her like there will never be anything in the world more important than the child he's holding right now. Ed stares at that look, the blue eyes full of that tenderness, like a dream.

Ed's attention is drawn away from Cameron when he catches sight of another gaze focused on him. Osborne is watching him watch Cameron with his head tilted to one side and a rather peculiar expression. He doesn't look angry or bemused; instead, there's just a narrowing to the eyes, a strangeness in the way he's taking them both in, his eyes flickering between Ed and Cameron. Ed frowns but the second their gazes meet, Osborne drags his back to Cameron so quickly that Ed's left wondering if the moment occurred at all.

* * *

Being Prime Minister exempts you from a lot of daily tasks but setting off fireworks is not one of them.

David is right in the middle of setting down a particularly bright-looking rocket-the first few fireworks have temporarily quietened the children and now the others face the task of occupying them until the next batch are readied. Justine is trying to coax a stubborn Daniel into putting on mittens, holding him a little away from her as though not quite sure what to do with him. Boris meanwhile is requesting a note of Florence's presence from Sam-"I have been informed by your youngest, Samantha, that one Right Honourable George Osborne owes her the sum of one Yorkie bar and it is my solemn duty as the Mayor of London to ensure that the Chancellor pays his debts"-and Luke appears to be having a lecture delivered to him by Frances on his habitual usage of his mobile phone. David shakes his head and then frowns as his eyes land on Nancy and Liberty. Nancy is staring off into space, absent-mindedly chewing at her nails. David frowns worriedly at his daughter.

"This should be interesting." David glances up to see George standing over him. He holds up a firework to his friend and smiles. "Any help?"

George smirks and ducks down to help him. David takes the opportunity to rest his eyes on Miliband, who seems to be about to engage in some sort of race with Elwen, who seems to be doing the chattering for both of them. David hears the laughter break from his own throat at the sight of Miliband's arms windmilling wildly as he almost falls down, much to the shrieking delight of David's own son.

"What?" George follows his gaze and grins at the sight of Miliband, lips twitching in a rueful grin, as he awkwardly pats Elwen's shoulder before almost losing his balance again. David can't stop the grin that spreads over his own mouth, as he takes in the sight of Miliband, dark eyes bright, cheeks clearly flushed even in the dark. David can't help staring at him, taking in the rather odd but admittedly quite endearing sight.

George taps David's shoulder and he jumps a little. "Miliband seems to be having fun" George remarks, and with another glance over at Miliband and Nick, David has to admit that that seems to be the case. "Pity that Michael and William couldn't make it, though."

George shrugs. "It's Bonfire Night-people make plans." David nods, a little distracted. He grins at the sight of Miliband ruffling Elwen's hair a little awkwardly.

George glances past Miliband, however, to let his eyes rest on his and David's daughters, one of whom is smiling, the other's gaze still lost in space. David follows his eyes and feels the smile slide off his face like butter.

"Is it just me-" He tugs at George's sleeve and nods surreptitiously across the garden at their daughters. "Or does Nancy look less than thrilled with Bonfire Night?"

George squints in the same direction. "Now that you mention it, she does look a bit down-in-the mouth." He frowns. "Godfathers notice these things."

"After actual father points it out to him, yes."

The two exchange a quick grin before David sighs. "Perhaps I should have a talk with her."

George snorts. "Good luck with that. The other day, I asked Liberty how school went and she almost bit my head off. I thought Frances was going to be cleaning up the feathers for days afterwards."

David smirks and George shakes his head. "Later on, she came up, gave me a hug, then asked me for £25."

David laughs. "Is that all?"

George shakes his head, squinting pensively at his daughter. "It's not a laughing matter. Right after I told her not on your life, she told me "I thought you were supposed to be the Chancellor of the Exchequer?" I said "Yes, and this is your budget cut.""

"I suppose that answer thrilled her."

"I'm surprised you didn't hear. We had a total of _four-"_ George holds up four fingers as if David might not be sure of the number. "Doors slammed shut. In rapid succession."

David laughs again. "She and Nancy must compare notes." He glances again at his daughter and feels his smile fade. "Maybe I'll get Sam to have a word."

"Which one, your wife or your son-in-law?"

David elbows him as they stand up, calling the others over to watch the firework display. David is about to head over to his elder daughter to inquire-in a hopefully non-Phil Dunphy way-about her wellbeing but he's ambushed as he gets to his feet by his younger one, accompanied by her fiance, each holding a sparkler proudly, Samantha's watchful eyes on them, hands ready to snatch the sparklers back at the hint of any danger.

"Daddy, watch me and Sam write our names" Florence announces and David holds her carefully by the shoulders, one hand moving to steady Sam as the two children lift their sparklers. He feels something brush his own shoulder and then Miliband is standing next to him, his own hands resting almost nervously on his son's shoulders, with one briefly landing on Florence's. For a second, they exchange smiles, both holding their children tightly, as Florence and Sam raise their sparklers into the air, each writing the other's name in careful golden sparks spitting out against the darkness.

* * *

Several fireworks later, Ed retreats upstairs into the Downing Street flat for a few minutes-he's exhausted from deliberately losing races to small boys who seem to have boundless amounts of energy.

That's the first reason. The second is that outside, he can't see his younger son anywhere.

When he'd pointed this out to Cameron, Cameron had frowned, placing a hand on his arm. "Do you want me to get the aides looking for him?" Even in the midst of struggling to tamp down on the slowly rising panic, Ed hadn't been able to help noticing that Cameron's eyes had been darting around the gardens as rapidly as his own. One arm had already been out, about to summon an aide, and Ed had been about to roll his eyes at this typically Cameron-ish gesture, before he caught a glimpse of the worry in Cameron's eyes and felt a pang of guilt. Cameron was just trying to help after all, and maybe this was the best way he knew how.

"I'm sure he's fine" he'd managed, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. "How about I have a look for him and if he hasn't turned up in a few minutes, I'll let you know?"

Cameron had agreed, with concern still creasing his brow, and Ed had turned back to the search for his younger son. Despite the fact he was scanning around himself frantically for a glimpse of his son's big, dark eyes, he'd had to shake his head, grinning, at Cameron's typically Cameron-esque-if rather endearing on this occasion-gesture of concern.

"Oh, and if he's not out here" Cameron had called over his shoulder. "Feel free to check inside."

That remark and the absence of any sign of Sam in the gardens is the reason Ed is currently wandering the living quarters of 10 Downing Street.

He has to admit, it sounds the sort of terrible excuse that would probably get someone arrested.

But now, he's found himself standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the Camerons' bedrooms, listening to the very definite sound of children's laughter coming from above.

He dithers for a moment, hovering at the bottom of the stairs before he decides to throw caution to the winds-he can already hear Cameron's voice in his head _Does that usually involve drastic measures for you, Miliband? Loosening your tie, that sort of thing? -_and he heads up the stairs, telling the voice to just shut up.

It's not difficult to follow the sound of children's voices down the landing and Ed passes a bunch of doors which are closed. Through one, he catches the glimpse of a double bed, which he hastily averts his eyes from. He knows it's a childish impulse-he's sat through a horror film with Cameron, after all-but something about imagining Cameron-_lying_ _in bed_ has an element of strangeness to it and he feels the heat creeping into his cheeks. He shakes his head as he follows the sound of the children's voices.

He recognizes his son's the moment he reaches the door that stands half-open. "What's that?"

The next voice is Florence's, happily authoritative. "_Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets._ Daddy and Nancy read it to me and Elwen."

Ed, holding back his grin, steps into the room as Sam, nodding earnestly, tells her "My daddy tells Booboo Heehee stories but he not here lots."

Ed's grin disappears as he feels a pang in his chest.

"Daddy-" Sam, catching sight of him, grabs Ed's hand and tugs him into the room, pointing at the walls. "Look-Florence's _room-"_

"I can see." Ed smiles at Florence, who has her arms folded and is looking at him with the expression of someone who is trying to make up her mind about something. "You can come in" she says, after a long moment. "But the only reason you don't have to know _password_ is 'cos you're _Sam's_ daddy."

She yawns suddenly and rubs her hands across her eyes. Sam is rubbing his eyes, too, and then he murmurs "Daddy, tell Florence about Booboo and Heehee."

Ed stares at his son for a moment, trying to remember the last time he told him a story.

"OK" he says, glancing from one child to the other. "I'll tell you and Florence a Booboo and Heehee story if you both have a lie down."

He's expecting a storm of protest from his son but maybe he's forgotten the novelty of being in someone else's bedroom. Both children scramble onto Florence's bed and nestle up against the pillows, two pairs of wide eyes fixed on him.

Ed clears his throat as the two children tuck themselves under the covers. "Booboo and Heehee live on the moors" he tells Florence, who nestles her head against Sam's as she listens. "They have to look after each other and-"

"They have baa-language" Sam tells her and Ed nods. "That's right."

Sam almost bounces as he sits upright, eyes bright. "Because they're _sheep!"_ he almost shouts and Ed shushes him gently. Florence is glancing solemnly from one side to the other and then suddenly she stares at Ed. "Mr. Miliband?"

Ed stares at her. "Yes, Florence?"

Florence tilts her head to the side. "Can sheep go to Hogwarts?"

Ed blinks but before he can respond, Sam's bouncing again. "Yes, Daddy, Daddy, Booboo and Heehee go _Hogwarts."_

Ed swallows, trying desperately to recall all the details of the Harry Potter books that he knows. He has read them, knows his sons have watched a couple of the films-he thinks Zia might read them the books at some point.

"OK" he says and Florence tugs at his sleeve. "Would Booboo and Heehee be _allowe_d to go to Hogwarts?" she asks and Sam glances at his father, worried.

Ed nods. "Oh, I'm sure Mr. Dum-"

_"Dum-dore_, Daddy" Sam chips in and Ed nods. "Of course. Mr. Dumbledore-"

_"Professor_ Dumbledore" Florence corrects him and Ed nods again. "Of course. Professor Dumbledore would let them stay, I'm sure."

"But what if they're not magic?" Sam asks worriedly. Ed wracks his brains for a way to convince his three-year-old son that sheep can be magical.

"Maybe they can stay in the grounds with Hagrid" Florence says, coming unwittingly to his rescue, and Ed nods, relieved, trying to remember who Hagrid is.

"Daddy, Daddy-" Sam lowers his voice to a whisper at the sight of his father shushing him. _"Hagrid look after Booboo Heehee!"_

Ed draws in a deep breath, takes in the shining eyes of the children in front of him. "OK," he says, smoothing his son's hair, who blinks at the unusual gesture, and then Florence's too. "On the 1st of September, Booboo and Heehee were driven to King's Cross Station to board the sheep carriage of the Hogwarts Express..."

* * *

Halfway through a recitation of Booboo and Heehee's impressions of Hagrid's cabin, which he's googled on his phone, Ed glances up to find that the bedtime story has done the trick-both children are fast asleep, and Ed smiles at the sight of Florence's head tucked against Sam's. Carefully, he pulls the bedclothes up over them both, patting them nervously.

A voice low, just above a whisper, comes from the doorway. "You found them, then?"

Ed turns to see Cameron standing in the doorway, an amused smile dimpling his cheeks. He moves into the room quietly, joining Ed as he stares down at the two children.

"I did say I'd kill any boy I found in bed with my daughter" Cameron whispers and Ed gives him a grin, as Cameron reaches out to smooth Sam's hair back from his forehead.

"No line about broken promises?" Cameron whispers and Ed rolls his eyes. "Murdering my son would hardly be a good example of hospitality, Cameron."

Cameron returns the grin. "Which I'm sure you would never fail to remind me of."

Ed smiles back before he, very cautiously, reaches out and pets Florence's hair. She doesn't stir in her sleep. "I hope it'th all right" he says, once he's upright again, further from the children's hearing range. "But they both looked tired and they wanted a story."

Cameron chuckles. "Florence ask for someone or something goes to Hogwarts?"

Ed smiles, carefully bending and tucking the covers under Sam's chin, the way his son likes. "Two th-sheep."

Cameron snorts with laughter and Ed hastily shushes him before they both back away from the bed, shoulders shaking as they struggle not to disturb the two sleeping children.

Ed tries to glare at him once they're safely near the door. "It'th not entirely improbable-"

Cameron almost convulses with silent laughter, his hand slapped over his mouth and Ed can't help the giggle that escapes from his own mouth. The look Cameron gives him is enough to make it worse and as the laughter dies away, he realises Cameron's still watching him, head tilted, with an expression that Ed can't quite read. He stares back and the moment stretches out between them. David's eyes soften for a second but the look's gone before Ed can catch it.

"Thank you" David says quietly and his hand hovers next to Ed's arm as if about to touch his elbow but then thinking better of it. "For putting them to bed."

Ed shrugs. "It wasn't any trouble."

David smiles and stares at their two children, curled up together. "They're sweet when they sleep, aren't they? Only time we get any peace. That little gift you got Florence" he murmurs suddenly. "After Sam was born and we bought those gifts and you got her the little mobile-the one with the song. We used to play that whenever she wouldn't sleep and she'd go right off."

Ed swallows, suddenly aware of how close they are. He's never noticed just how blue David's eyes are before. "That hat you th-sent Sam" he says, keeping his voice low. "We still have it-he calls it his Prime Minister hat."

David laughs. "Don't tell me he's already planning a career in politics."

"I've already told him I wouldn't advise it." Ed pushes his hands into his pockets. "Particularly againtht his brother."

He doesn't know where the words come from-all he knows is that suddenly they're out there, heavy with something that sounds like longing and tastes like bitterness. David glances at him sharply and he swallows hard, keeping his eyes on the bed so that when David's hand brushes his arm, it takes him by surprise.

Ed opens his mouth but as he does so, there's a shuffling sound in the doorway and both of them turn at once, stepping back from one another as the shuffling becomes the creaking of a floorboard. At the same moment, Florence stirs in her sleep and Ed meets David's eyes and knows that for once, they're both thinking the same thing.

"I'll check-" David indicates his daughter at the same moment that Ed says "I'll check-" and points to the door.

David smiles then and Ed finds himself returning it. They stand there together for an awkward, drawn-out second and then both of them move at once to their respective tasks. David's hand brushes Ed's arm as they pass, a fleeting squeeze of the elbow so brief that Ed could almost believe he'd imagined it.

When he pushes the door open, he almost falls over a small, huddled figure crouched outside on the carpet. Glancing down, he realises with a jolt that he has actually tripped over a Nancy. A Nancy Cameron.

A Nancy Cameron who is staring up at him with an expression that is completely devoid of the giggling that had infused it earlier, when she was whispering with Liberty.

"Hello, Nanthy." Ed swallows and glances back at the door where he can vaguely hear Cameron giving a whispered assurance to his daughter-something about sheep, souls and Dementors.

Nancy just stares at him, blinking balefully, before she wraps her arms tighter around her knees and huddles further into the wall. Ed considers for a moment, torn between fetching Cameron and not wishing to disturb two sleeping children, so, after a moment, he sinks down next to Nancy, awkwardly wrapping his own arms around his legs. Nancy glances at him briefly, then looks away, resting her chin on her knees.

"Um-" Ed wonders vaguely what universe children drift to once they hit the pre-teen years and whether or not they travel with a one-way ticket.

He glances at Nancy and finds her staring at him. She doesn't look away when he catches her-she just stares back. Something in the tilt of the head, the stubborn steadiness of her gaze, is rather strongly reminiscent of her father.

"So-" Ed's already wondering quite how he's supposed to manage this. "Um-have you enjoyed the night?"

Nancy gives him a look that suggests he's an idiot. Ed shrugs.

Nancy shrugs, nestling her chin on her knees and Ed sighs. Debating with fully grown politicians, he'd take any day, over trying to get coherent answers out of a ten-year-old.

"I think your dad'th a little worried about you" he says and Nancy blinks. Ed swallows, hoping he hasn't just made a monumental mistake. "He-well, he-" He's hardly failed to notice Cameron's worried gaze straying continually to his daughter throughout the evening. "He-well, he-maybe he wonderth why you've been so quiet?"

Nancy draws in a deep breath and for a moment Ed thinks she's just going to ignore him. Or maybe he's got it all wrong. Maybe quiet is just some childrens' natural state.

Then, she says quickly and quietly "Don't tell Daddy."

Ed stares at her. "Don't tell Daddy what?"

Nancy rubs at her eyes. "That I'm sad" she says very quietly.

Ed stares at her before awkwardly letting his hand rest on her shoulder. "But-Nanthy, your daddy will want to know if you're sad. So he can help-"

Nancy shakes her head. "No. You can't tell him." She glares at him. "Or I won't tell you anything."

Ed reflects grimly that Nancy already seems to be honing a political strategy.

He sighs. "Why are you sad?" he says, after several moments of morose silence from the little girl.

Nancy shrugs and tugs her hair around her finger. Something in her eyes is so lost that Ed feels something wrench hard in his chest and awkwardly, he lets his arm slide around her shoulder, hand rubbing her back soothingly. With the other, he ruffles her hair awkwardly.

Nancy doesn't seem to mind. Instead, she leans against his arm and then says "Mr Ed Miliband?"

"You can call me Ed, Nancy, but what-"

"Do you have a brother?"

The words hang in the air between them. Ed keeps his voice exactly the same level, exactly the same tone. "Yes, I do."

"Does he live a long way away?"

Ed nods. "Yes, he does. He lives in America."

"Where?"

"New York."

"Do you miss him?"

Ed swallows. Nancy is staring up at him, wide-eyed, expression completely devoid of guile.

Ed meets her eyes. "Yes, I do."

Nancy nods and nestles into Ed's arm. "Even-even if-"

Ed waits, but Nancy trails off and after a few moments, the question dissolves in the silence between them.

Nancy yawns and nestles her head against Ed's arm as if she does this every day. "Ed Miliband"?"

"Yeth, Nancy?"

"I'm tired" she says, and with that, she closes her eyes.

Ed is just resigning himself to the fact that David Cameron's daughter might spend the night asleep on his shoulder, when suddenly, her little voice whispers again. "Ed Miliband?"

"Yes, Nancy?"

"Liberty says you have soulful eyes. Don't know why."

Ed feels the blood rise to his cheeks. "Oh. Um. Tell Libbie-thank you very much for that."

There's no reply and when Ed glances at Nancy a moment later, he sees that her eyes have fallen shut and her breathing is deeper, more even. He's been sitting there with her for several moments when the door opens and he almost falls backwards into the room. He saves himself at the last minute, turning to see Cameron regarding them both with an arched eyebrow and an amused smirk. "I'm beginning to think you missed your true calling as a nanny, Miliband."

Ed raises his own eyebrow. "I get enough practice babysitting in our meetings, Cameron."

Cameron sighs. "Really, Miliband?" But his face softens as he glances down at his sleeping daughter and says quietly "At least she looks a little more cheerful now."

Ed carefully moves his arm out from under her shoulders as David gently lifts her. Her head rests on her father's shoulder, eyelids fluttering peacefully as she dreams. Ed chews his lip, thinking of her words to him only a few moments before about his brother. He wonders what else she wanted to ask.

He watches Cameron for a few moments, opens his mouth. He could tell him right now.

But then he looks at Cameron, the way he's staring at his daughter, taking her in, the way he gently tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He swallows and reminds himself that there are guests downstairs and that he doesn't know what's wrong with Nancy and maybe she was just having one bad night-

Ed knows it's a weak excuse but he lets himself accept it.

And so he watches as Cameron gently carries his daughter to her own room, with a smile at Ed over his shoulder.

* * *

It's when they're leaving, with a sleeping Sam lying awkwardly over Justine's shoulders-"I know how he feels" Cameron had whispered, passing him over, "I've got a flight to Helsinki tomorrow morning"-that Ed steps closer to Cameron. "Thank you" he says quietly and Cameron blinks. "I think I should be thanking you-"

Ed shakes his head. "Not just for having uth-I mean-for-you know-upstairs-and-just-being-"

Cameron's shaking his head but there's a smile playing about his mouth. "Thanks for helping the way you did with the kids."

Ed doesn't hear that often.

Ed smiles and then Cameron takes his hand-firmly, the way he has many times before.

"Thank you" he says and his fingers squeeze Ed's for just a moment.

Ed bites his lip. "You're welcome." For some reason, the words feel thick in his mouth. A grin flickers at the corner of David's and he inclines his head so that he and Ed are almost touching. "And don't worry, Miliband. I know you'll bring up this little incident of thanks at Prime Minister's Questions."

Ed raises an eyebrow. "Cameron, you know it'th not a good sign if you're_ already_ planning excuses."

Cameron laughs and his hand lingers on Ed's arm for just a moment. As they turn to the door, Cameron now bidding goodnight to Justine and a rather drowsy Daniel, Ed pushes away the thought of what Nancy has whispered to him and more than that, the way Osborne's eyes are lingering on him and Cameron, one eyebrow raised.

But when Ed turns to meet his gaze, Osborne's talking with Frances, with no trace of that look on his face and Ed turns to his own wife, Cameron's hand brushing his sleeve, once again wondering if that look had existed for a second or if he'd imagined the whole moment after all.

* * *

_Playlist_

_Codes And Keys-Death Cab for Cutie-"We won't get far/Flying in circles inside a jar/'Cause the air we breathe/Is thinning with the words we speak/That we speak/You and me/That we speak/You and me/..But the codes and keys/They can protect you/From the pangs of jealousy/When you scream, love you see/Like a child throwing stones at the sky"_

_I Think That We Are Gonna Be Friends-The White Stripes-"Here we are, no one else/We walked to school all by ourselves/..We don't notice any time pass/We don't notice anything/We sit side by side in every class...And when I wake tomorrow I'll bet/That you and I will walk together again/Yes, I think that we are gonna be friends/Yes, I think that we are gonna be friends"_

_Caught In The Middle-Kodaline -"Any other second, I try to make it better/Try to never leave me alone/I wanna see you now while I'm breathing I'm wide awake and dreaming/And now you're starting to show/I really want you to know/I'm just caught, I'm just caught/I'm just caught in the middle waiting for you every night"_

_Kid-The Pretenders-"Kid, what changed your mood/You've gone all sad so I feel sad too...Your eyes are blue but you won't cry/I know, angry tears are too dear/You won't let them go"_

_So Unaware-Best Coast-"Do you see me 'cause I see you/But I don't even have a clue/...Did I even care or is it just that I am so unaware?/So unaware, so unaware"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George is Nancy and Elwen's godfather, David is Liberty's:https://bit.ly/2vGkuba  
https://bit.ly/3cJyTUo  
https://bit.ly/2v6k3GL  
David and Ed used to compare notes on their child-rearing:http://dailym.ai/2QeqrmL  
Justine and Frances are old friends from law school:https://bit.ly/3aIltGj  
http://dailym.ai/39AuiC7  
Nancy did want to get her ears pierced: https://bit.ly/38vYZal  
Florence did nearly pull the Queen's brooch off:http://dailym.ai/3aHKcLd  
https://bit.ly/2PW1Hzu  
Ed is a J.K. Rowling fan:https://bit.ly/2TA9g12  
You can see Justine refer to the boys as "chaps" here, when they were protesting at being photographed:https://bit.ly/2VX7UPu  
https://bit.ly/2TSekwz  
Justine does cycle to work:http://dailym.ai/2TMnUAY  
https://bit.ly/38B71ib  
https://bit.ly/2Iy6cMh  
The Booboo and Heehee stories are ones Ed's dad told him that he told his sons:https://bit.ly/2wIDpCk  
http://dailym.ai/39CeZIW  
David's kids love Frozen and Harry Potter:https://bit.ly/2vTbqQb  
http://dailym.ai/38B7ild  
https://bit.ly/2PZlVIo  
George's dog Lola: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-25178010  
David buying Larry:https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-12460596  
David and Ed do buy each other's kids' gifts-David's present to baby Sam was a woolly hat:https://bit.ly/39AtT2z  
Ed didn't tell his kids they might move to Downing Street:https://bit.ly/2vPA4Bc  
https://bit.ly/38FO0LC  
Ed claimed he and Justine didn't want to measure the curtains:https://bit.ly/39BEqdV  
Ed claims he doesn't want his sons to go into politics: https://bit.ly/2Ix18I4  
The PMQs mentioned is here:https://bit.ly/2TyDNMn  
The Camerons lived in the flat above No 11 as it was bigger and they had more children-the Osbornes lived above No 10:https://bit.ly/2TNaxjX  
https://bit.ly/39D4rcS  
Ed and Justine were described as serving "communion-like" portions of wine:https://on.ft.com/2PWSxCP


	5. Apocalyptic Apologies, Saviours Left Standing, And The Intricate Travesties Of Tie-Fastening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which David does not appreciate being compared to Richard or Judy and Nick and George may have witnessed the beginning of the apocalypse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me what you like about it, or just chat, you can find me on my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) .  
Reference quotes in this one refer to the attempted coup against Ed, the press trick referred to and Boris at Chequers. If you can't read any of the articles and want to, send me a message or an ask and I'll make sure you can. :)  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_Lucy Powell, Labour’s defeated parliamentary candidate in Manchester Withington and a former director of the pro-EU campaign group, Britain in Europe, joined Team Ed as campaign chief. Her impact was instant. **“Lucy was a Godsend” **says (Stewart) Wood. **“We needed someone who could both run an office and a political campaign.”**…But in the leader’s own back office, there were still gaps in personnel to be filled, among them the role of “chief of staff.” Lucy Powell had been the “acting” chief of staff since Ed’s election but, despite her role as a tenacious campaign manager, she proved less popular in her new role. There was grumbling inside the PLP that Ed hadn’t gone for a bigger figure: **“Where’s his Jonathan Powell?”** Others worried about her centrist political views. **“She’s never done a job like this”** says one of Ed’s aides. **“And the really weird thing about Lucy is that she works in this really senior role in Ed Miliband’s office but she doesn’t even remotely share Ed Miliband’s politics.”**-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan _

_**"I shouldn't be** **here."** It's the first thing each of them thought when they first walked into the room. They'd just entered a completely unthreatening environment, a nice, middle-class flat in south London. A group of friendly faces greeted them. Or if they weren't friends as such, they were at least kindred spirits. And as each new arrival made their slightly nervy entrance, for a moment the mood lightened. **"Thank God. I'm not on my own."** But then it darkened again. **"How many of us are there now. Eight? Ten? Can we all trust each other? How many more are coming? If we end up with twenty in here, there's no way it won't get out."** Someone cracked the joke. **"Were you followed?"** Except they were only half joking. Nothing was in anybody's office diary. No one who was not in the room had been told they were meeting. Even those who **were **in the room hadn't openly discussed with each other **why **they were in the room. **"A few of us are getting together for a chat about where things are heading. You should come along."** So they'd come. But they knew they hadn't just been invited along for a chat. Or to chew the fat over where things were headed. They'd been invited along to help plot a murder._

_Drinks were offered and rejected. And finally, with a look at her watch, The Hostess brought the meeting to order. She began speaking with a hard, deliberate tone. It was time to drop the pretence. They all knew why they were here. Each of them could read the polls. They had all had the same conversations on the doorsteps. Every one of them had witnessed first-hand the confusion and chaos that currently passed for leadership in their party. This could no longer be allowed to continue. They were heading for disaster. Something had to be done._

_People were nodding cautiously. Partly there was relief that, as she'd said, the pretence was now over. They could now start to openly discuss what needed to be discussed. There was also a sneaking sense of admiration. **"Christ, you have to give it to her, she's got some guts. She's got us all here, in her own flat, and she's coming out with this stuff. In her own fucking flat." **But the sense of foreboding still hung there. **"Jesus, we're actually doing this. We're sitting here actually talking about taking him out. This is crazy. I should never have come."**_

_The next person to speak, Plotter Number Two, was supportive. In his view they had three options. One was a direct, overt challenge. **"Thanks, Ed, for everything you've done. You brought people together at a difficult time; prevented the party fracturing. But now it needs someone else to take the party forward." **The second was a delegation. The shadow cabinet. One or two greybeards.** "Sorry, but this can't go on. You need to change course. On the economy. On welfare. On everything, basically. And you need to do it quickly and publically. Or else."** The third was an insurgency. **"Try to start shaking things up from within. Give some more speeches. Ramp up the briefings. Put down markers. Try and give ourselves a fighting chance. Or, at least, get ourselves into a position where we can define the defeat. Salvage something from the wreckage." **Plotter Number Two's own personal preference was for option one. A straight kill. Swift. Humane. Clean. But everyone knew this was choreographed intervention. Plotter Two and The Hostess were close. They were trying to lead them all down a pre-determined path. Well, not so fast. There was potentially more than one life at stake here. _

_Plotter Number Three joined the discussion. If they did go for option one, how would it work? In practice? Although it sounded like a neutral question, it actually introduced a note of caution. Everyone present already knew how it would be done. A letter would be circulated. Signatures obtained. Though not a real letter. It would be an email, from an anonymous Gmail account. And there would be no real signatures. Just a series of phone calls. **"OK, I'm in."** Nothing traceable. _

_Then another call would be made. The chief whip needed to see Ed. No, it wouldn't wait. It was happening. They weren't playing this time. How many? Hard to tell. Fifty. Sixty. No, not Ed (Balls) or Chuka (Umunna). Rachel (Reeves) or Harriet (Harman)? No, not them, either. At least, she didn't think so. It was hard to know. None of them were returning her calls. But the word was the junior shadow ministers were about to break cover. Patrick Wintour at the Guardian had already started ringing round. She understood they were going to press the button on the World At One. Resignations had been lined up for the following morning. Five or six. Timed to drop every two hours or so across the course of the day. The PLP chair? Yes, she'd tried him. He wasn't answering either. What did Ed want her to do? What was Ed planning to do?_

_And now they'd all pictured it, it had become real. Viciously real.-One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Miliband And Clegg: Three Men, One Ambition And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_Plotter Number Four introduced another word of caution. **"OK, say we do it. What then? Who takes over?"**_

_The Hostess-**"What about Alan?"**_

_Plotter Number Five-**"Alan? He's already been sounded out. Said he wasn't interested."**_

_And now they're all speaking at once. Plotter Number Six-**"No, what Alan said was he wasn't interested if there was a contest. But there wouldn't be a contest..."** Plotter Number Seven-**"...There isn't time. There'll have to be a swift, clean kill, followed by a swift, clean coronation. If we could convince Alan he'd be crowned without a fight he'd probably go for it..."** Plotter Number Eight-**"....But isn't that the problem? We've left it too late. We're less than a year from the election now. If we take out our own leader less than a year from the election who knows how the voters would react. How would the base react..."** Plotter Number Nine-**"....And say we take Ed out, insert Alan, and then Alan crashes in flames. Then it wouldn't be Ed Miliband's defeat, it would be our defeat..." **_

_The Hostess could sense which way this thing was drifting. For Christ's sake, she'd got them here, **in her own fucking flat, **and they were all still flapping around. What was wrong with these men?_

_The Hostess-**"Yes, there are risks. If we change leader this late-on, no one can know for certain how things will play out. But we know for certain how things will play out if we don't change leader. Look at the private polling. It's so bad he couldn't even risk sharing it with the shadow cabinet. We owe it to the party to act. We owe it to ourselves to act."**_

_Plotter Number Five-**"OK. But say we do move against him. How many people are sitting in this room? Ten of us. That's not enough. Not nearly enough."** Plotter Number Two-**"But it isn't just us. There are others thinking of moving too. Seriously thinking about it. Ian (Austin). Simon (Danczuk). They're talking about going to see Dave Watts and saying to his face, "Enough's enough. You've got to tell him to quit." There's even talk that Tom (Watson) is finally losing patience. If we could get Tom signed up then we could really finish him."** And there was a moment of silence. It was all becoming real again. And everyone was thinking the same thing. **"Jesus, we're really talking about doing this. We're actually talking about taking out the leader of the Labour party. What if someone talks? What if he finds out? And why hasn't Plotter Number Ten said a word? Why the hell am I doing this? I shouldn't be a part of this. I shouldn't even be here."**-One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Miliband And Clegg: Three Men, One Ambition And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_He had found out. Not all the details. He didn't have all the names and the times and the places. But Ed Miliband knew. He knew it had gone beyond playground jibes. He knew they were plotting. Preparing to move in for the kill. Or talking about moving in for the kill. The Salon That's No Longer A Salon was still pretty dysfunctional. But not as dysfunctional as it had been. They heard things. Saw things. Now and then people told them things. So he knew. But the question was, what would he do about it? What should he do about it?_

_He could move first. Launch a pre-emptive strike. Sack someone. Make an example. But then what if he was wrong? The Salon That Was No Longer A Salon wasn't as dysfunctional as it was. But it was still pretty dysfunctional. Not that making an example of someone who turned out to be entirely innocent was necessarily all bad. Still sent a strong signal. But it would also smack of the old politics. And he didn't want to back anyone into a corner. Couldn't have the shadow cabinet starting to think, **"Jesus, if poor old so-and-so's getting the chop, and he wasn't anywhere near the flat, what chance do I have? I wasn't anywhere near that flat either. But I could have been. I was invited to the flat. Might as well help take him out before he takes me out. No point getting canned over a flat I've never set foot in."**_

_And even if he did want to back people into a corner, who did he have to back them into a corner with? It was all well and good bringing the boys down to the yard. But you had to have some boys to bring. Peter was gone. John was gone. Stewart wasn't even a proper member of the shadow cabinet. Chuka was almost one of them now. There were no boys any more. If he was going to push back at them, he was going to have to do the pushing himself. Alone._

_Of course, he didn't need to push anyone. He could just come out and call them on it. Wouldn't even have to name any names, just make an appeal, a direct appeal. Not even an appeal, a demand. He could demand unity. Go over their heads. To the party. To the country. Demand an end to the briefing. The plotting. The treachery._

_But then he'd have to confront The Loyalty Thing. Or the Disloyalty Thing. The Brother Thing._

_The Brother Thing was to Ed Miliband what the boulder was to Sisyphus. Try as he might, he could never quite get it over the brow of a hill. Out of view.-One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Miliband And Clegg: Three Men, One Ambition And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_On 30 September (2012), the Mayor and his family arrived at Chequers for lunch. The gathering, says one who was there, was like **"a scene from a gangster film where there's food and kids running around and normal family life but the two dons are actually doing business and agreeing who's going to get whacked."** There was high confidence on both sides that they could agree on the EU. If Boris could soft-pedal his demands for a referendum for a month or two, his patience would be rewarded by Cameron's speech. At one point, his (then) wife Marina teased him: **"I don't think your position makes any sense at all!"** The biggest disappointment of the day for Johnson was that Cameron said the tennis court was not fit for play. The irrepressibly competitive Mayor knew that the PM had given him an easy time when they had faced one another in Trafalgar Square in September 2011: Johnson, after all, had an election coming up in May 2012. But he wanted to show Dave that he could beat him fair and square, and was frustrated to be denied the chance. **"Something about his racquet, a likely story" **the Mayor muttered.-In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D'Ancona_

_Boris Johnson came (to Chequers) with his family one Sunday and there was a highly competitive game of football on the lawn, with Boris slide-tackling one of his children so vigorously they had to retire hurt.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_There is one other genre of gossipy, not-strictly-important story that can get published, and it is stories that journalists think are funny. There's not a lot more to them: editors just find them entertaining and want to share the joy with their readers. In order to do it, they occasionally have to stretch the definition of "public interest" to an amusing extent. A great example of the genre came from the Sun in 2016. The headline was **"Sleazy MP Simon Danczuk, 49, had spanking sessions and sex with woman, 22, on desk in his office."** It's all pretty self-explanatory but to recap: Danczuk, then a single man, had consensual sex with an adult woman. That's it. That's the story. Still, the woman talked to the Sun so provided a lot of colour, including an unforgettable text exchange where she asked the MP what would happen to Eurovision should the UK leave the EU, to which he replied **"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't even think about the fucking Eurovision!!!"**_

_That is undoubtedly fun, but it's unclear why the press should have a duty to report this to the public-or is it? The first line of the Sun scoop read: **"MP Simon Danczuk had sex with a 22-year-old woman on a desk in his taxpayer-funded constituency office."** Boom! There we have it-the sex happened in his office, which is paid for by taxpayers, so it is in the public interest to write about it._

_Asked about that specific story, someone who worked at the Sun at the time said **"I would admit that's flimsy. There's obviously a certain degree to which all tabloid journalists are massive hypocrites, because they lead lives of varying degrees of debauchery and then act as moral arbiters when politicians get up to similar things."****-**Haven't You Heard?: Gossip, Power And How Politics Really Works, Marie Le Conte_

* * *

_There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it, you've got to stand it.-Brokeback Mountain, Annie Proulx_

_Cassie: You love Tony._

_Sid: ......Pardon?_

_Cassie: You love Tony! You always talk about him!_

_Sid: ........Do I?_

_\- Skins s1ep2, "Cassie"_

* * *

"You know we're not going to win."

"Did I say that? I don't recall saying that in those exact words-"

"Can it, Peter. You know fucking well he's a complete disaster."

"I didn't deny that in those exact words."

"Would you shut up?"

"In which case why did you ring?"

"Because we've got names. Fucking names, Peter. And we could get 100 of them."

A pause.

"That could be rather interesting."

"Yeah, it fucking well could be rather fucking interesting. It could be a fucking lot more than rather fucking interesting, if we could get Alan to fucking agree."

"Hmm. And judging by your customary choice of phrase, all related to fornication."

"Shut the fuck up, Peter."

* * *

"I suppose unpredictability can be an intriguing quality in a Prime Minister."

David stares at his campaign chief and wonders for a moment if Lynton's started drinking before work. He settles for an uncertain smile in return.

Lynton raises an eyebrow. "You and Miliband-" he drawls, leaning back in his chair. "Have apparently gone from loathing the sight of one another to having fucking dinner parties together."

George sniggers and David shoots him a glare. "I-we-" He swallows. "We've been spending-a little more time with each other, I suppose."

Lynton smirks and, in one swift movement, lifts the copy he's holding and lets it drop open. David stares at the headline, peering through his reading glasses, then closes his eyes with a sigh.

_"PUNCH-AND-JUDY POLITICS? TRY RICHARD-AND-JUDY-CAMERON AND MILIBAND TAKE BOOK TOUR OF DOWNING STREET IN BONFIRE CELEBRATIONS."_

It doesn't matter that he has his eyes closed, however, as George, rather too eagerly, commences the task of reading the article aloud.

_"At Prime Minister's Questions, they labelled each other a "nothing leader" and a "don't-know Prime Minister" but just hours later, David Cameron and Ed Miliband were apparently able to put their political rivalry aside-to enjoy Bonfire Night celebrations with their families._

_It would seem David Cameron is apparently extending the hand of friendship to all and sundry-including his political opponents. Labour Leader Ed Miliband was apparently among the guests at a small gathering in 10 Downing Street on the evening of Bonfire Night-the same address he'll be hoping to take from Cameron in the wake of next year's General Election._

_However, there was reportedly no sign of antagonism exhibited by either Cameron or Miliband, who attended with his family, throughout the evening. Nor was there any objection displayed by any of the other guests, which included a few familiar-though perhaps less surprising -faces, including Chancellor George Osborne, Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg, and London Mayor Boris Johnson, who all attended with their families. The evening apparently included a buffet and much of the do was spent in the Downing Street Gardens with a lavish fireworks display being one of the highlights of the party. Cameron has reportedly thrown parties for family and friends-including political colleagues-in the Downing Street Gardens before, but this is one of the few times Miliband has been seen attending. The Leader of the Opposition matched his host when it came to manners-apparently, along with his wife, barrister Justine Thornton, presenting the Camerons-the Prime Minister and his wife, businesswoman Samantha Cameron-with a bottle of wine as a token of appreciation._

_Perhaps the presence of wives and children brings out civility-either way, our source reported Cameron and Miliband to be not just civil but "friendly" to one another inside the party. The PM and the Labour leader were frequently seen "engrossed in conversation", often including their families and other guests. However, Cameron and Miliband also seemed to be getting along just fine in one-on-one interactions-with Cameron at one point reportedly showing Miliband around his personal library. The two leaders, who will battle it out for the office of Prime Minister in May, appeared to be in high spirits, as did the younger guests. Sources claimed that the children of both the Prime Minister and his guests spent the evening watching a fireworks display in the Downing Street Gardens, running around, and " having the time of their lives."_

_While their families enjoyed themselves, we could be forgiven for wondering whether or not we'll see much more of these sorts of interactions between Cameron and Miliband in the near future. With the election approaching in May, all eyes will be on these two men as we wait to see which will be leading the country for the next five years-a contest which may leave less time for cross-party socializing._

_However, this looming spectacle didn't appear to bother Cameron and Miliband. At the end of the night, the two, who just hours earlier had labelled each other's parties "a dead parrot" (Cameron's assessment of Labour's current condition) and "a boil that has to be lanced" (Miliband's comment on the rumours of divisions within the Conservative Party), did not appear to be dwelling on political insults. Instead, the two reportedly exchanged farewells that certainly erred on the side of friendly and could even be described as "warm." According to our source, Cameron and Miliband's wives hugged while the two men appeared to speak affectionately with one another's children. As for Cameron and Miliband themselves-they are said to have bidden each other goodnight with smiles, humour and even "a quick squeeze of the arm."_

_Whether or not this will affect the men's next battle across the despatch box remains to be seen. Perhaps, in future, the two may throw party invitations at one another rather than insults. Or maybe it will provide them with some new topics for debate in the House of Commons? "Could the Prime Minister tell us exactly why he brought a substandard bottle of wine to our soiree when we presented him with a £500 bottle of Chardonnay?" "It's a fine day when the Leader of the Opposition claims to find my personal invitation designs inferior when it is obvious his bears the stamp of his party! Badly-designed, roughly sketched and far too late-they've just been registered as Labour's trademark!"_

_Sadly, it's unlikely we'll ever see a debate that interesting in the House of Commons. But then again, with a General Election approaching and the preparations for campaigns growing more detailed by the day, perhaps it is best to expect the unexpected. Only time will tell._

_A spokesperson for the Prime Minister and a Labour Party press official have been approached for comment."_

George lowers the paper and turns to David with a grin. David sighs. "Go on." He beckons him. "Give me the remark."

"What remark?" George affects a look of wide-eyed innocence which belies the smirk already dancing at his mouth.

David waits for a moment, then turns to Lynton.

"Of course, Nick and I will have to be jealous now."

David glares at him as George bursts out laughing. Lynton seems to be fighting back a smirk as he lowers the paper. "Well, there've been worse headlines." He raises an eyebrow as he peruses the various other papers spread out in front of him. "And the rest seem to be taking a fairly positive view. Not that any of them will see the light of day, of course."

David groans. "There are more?"

"Oh, yeah." Lynton smirks as he shuffles the papers. "There are a few choice ones, here-"

George's reaching for them too, and David doesn't even bother trying to stop him. George's grinning already, as he reads out the headlines. _"Cameron Keeps His Enemies Closer.""ConLib? Better Call It LabCon." "Measuring The Curtains, Ed?""Deny Thy Party And Refuse Thy Name?"_

"I get the picture" David manages, while Lynton sniggers. David glares at him and Lynton shrugs. "Like I said, we've had far worse."

"How come they won't be seen? I thought that was the point-"

"We'll lean on the editors. Don't want it to make it look like we're making too much of it. All we need is a few rumours to show that you don't hate each other."

David knows better than to argue with Lynton's tactics.

But, casting his eyes over the headline that won't ever see the light of day, he groans again. "You'd think we were two teenage girls."

Lynton shrugs. "Well, if this gives everyone the impression we don't treat all of Labour like a bunch of gold-selling, money-losing twats, it can only be a good thing for us." The smirks twitches again. "Plus, if it makes you and Miliband happy-"

George smirks. "Maybe next, you can progress to sleepovers-"

David glares at him. "Shut up, George."

Lynton laughs, tossing a paper back onto the desk. "Well, it looks better than the two of you constantly bickering. And at least they managed not to mention anything about being "taxpayer-funded", that would have given them some publishing justification-" He smirks at the headline once more, eyes scanning the article. "Since you two seem to be warming up to each other, maybe hold off on buying him a friendship bracelet-"

George dissolves into laughter once again. David sighs, rolls his eyes heavenwards and then turns to George with infinite patience. "George, it is not that amusing. Miliband and I are grown men, not a pair of schoolchildren shouting insults across a school cafeteria."

George nods, biting his lip, apparently swallowing down his laughter. David turns away and then back immediately, as another thought strikes him. "By the way, Miliband can sit at our table now, Nick decided it was fine."

David appreciates George and Lynton finding some amusement out of him and Miliband making the tabloid pages, but once the laughter reaches a solid four minutes, he thinks they may be overreacting just a tad.

"Next time, you should just invite an editor" George points out, fairly, still struggling to catch his breath. "That way, their necks are on the line, too."

"Still" Lynton manages, wiping his eyes. "Miliband would probably prefer them to the_ actual_ headlines he's going to see."

David tries not to wince as a copy of that morning's paper is dropped onto the desk before him.

* * *

_Ed Miliband faces call to stand down from backbench Labour MPs._

Ed is staring down at his papers when he becomes aware that the room has been silent for a little too long.

He glances up to find every member of his Shadow Cabinet staring at him as though he's walked into the meeting with a spoon in his hair. (Ed pats at his head reflexively to check, even though it was years ago and Haverstock simply wasn't the best place to fail to notice cutlery in one's hair, no matter how fascinating one found the latest edition of Manic Miner cheats.)

Now, finding no cutlery, Ed stares back at the sea of silent, grinning faces. "What?"

It's Andy who says, with a smirk that's becoming more pronounced by the second, "Can we see it then?"

Balls snorts. Yvette kicks him. Ed stares at them, wondering how many of them knew these headlines would appear, were waiting for him to see them. "What?"

Douglas is grinning. "You know. Whatever little trinket Cameron gave you. A friendship locket, one of two matching rings-"

Were _hoping_ he would see them.

Ed rolls his eyes as Andy dissolves into laughter. Tristram's smirking at the table and even Sadiq appears to be biting back a grin as he shoves a copy of the paper-yet another paper-over to Ed.

"Rather hurtful, really" chips in Stephen. "None of us get an invitation."

"And what's wrong with us?" Lucy spreads her hands meaningfully. "Honestly-"

"Rather a rejection, really." Chuka gives a mock sniff. "I almost feel a little insulted. How were _we_ not adequate for Cameron's fireworks party?"

_How serious is the threat to Ed Miliband?_

At this, even Sadiq bursts out laughing and Ed rolls his eyes again. Yvette shakes her head sorrowfully as the laughter dies down. "I have to say, Ed-" She dabs at her eyes. "I'm really rather hurt. Don't you remember that drunken little promise you made me back in that flat that whoever first had a Tory come onto them-"

"Oh, for pity's-"

Balls snorts. "Christ, don't put that image in my head. I've just eaten."

"That's a fairly permanent state for you, though, isn't it-"

"Shut it, Burnham-"

"Boys" rebukes Harriet, though even _she's_ holding back a smirk. Ed tries to glare with the appropriate amount of disdain but he can't quite manage it.

_Ed Miliband faces Labour leadership crisis._

"But, really" Douglas chips in helpfully. "Don't go mixing business and pleasure. Remember Major and Currie-"

At this, there is an outbreak of hysterical laughter and Ed wonders just what he's done to deserve this. Sadiq is smirking, Tristram is sniggering, Balls is guffawing, Andy's half-hysterical, Harriet is telling all of them to settle down and the rest all appear to be in various states of barely-concealed laughter.

"I'm glad this amuses you" Ed manages, when he can be heard and Yvette nods happily back at him. "Oh, it does. Greatly."

They may have come a long way since their flat-sharing days but at that moment, Ed finds himself longing to return to '90s tactics and throw a cushion at her head.

He wonders if she's one of the senior Labour sources.

_Ed Miliband's problem is not policy but tone-_

As it is, he sighs, folds his hands together and waits for the laughter to die down once again. When it finally does, Ed looks around at them all. "You know we could remember we're supposed to be the Labour party?"

Further down the table, a voice that sounds remarkably like Chuka's mutters "LabCon."

Ed might not have a cushion to hand but, as gales of laughter break out around him again, he's seriously considering practicing his aim with his pen.

_-and increasingly, he seems trapped._

* * *

_Was it a novelty for you today to seat yourself at a Tory table?_

** _Novelty is one word for it._ **

_Were the others less complimentary?_

** _Are you sure you want to hear them?_ **

_And I thought you prided yourself on your honesty. Seriously-you weren't uncomfortable?_

** _Astonishingly, Cameron, your friends are not the most intimidating political factors of my career. And no, they were all perfectly polite. Thank you for asking._ **

_Well, it would be difficult to improve on the intimidation standards of bacon sandwiches and Rubix Cubes. Apologies for George's jokes, by the way._

** _Hilarious. And which ones?_ **

_All of them._

** _I couldn't agree more._ **

_Particularly the wedding ones. Difficult to persuade George & Michael that their jokes lack amusement._

** _I imagine that's an unfortunate side effect of being a Tory._ **

_You might want to check your Shadow Chancellor's allegiance, then._

** _I'm amazed that the Tories talk about allegiance. And I learnt not to take what your Chancellor says seriously. Much like most of the country._ **

_Very droll, Miliband._

** _I thought so._ **

* * *

** _Sam has not stopped talking about Florence for three days now._ **

_Concerned about your son's political allegiance, Miliband?_

** _More about his tendency to obsess. I can see that being misconstrued in the future._ **

_He's four, Miliband._

** _Nearly four. And on that note, we'd like to invite Florence to his birthday party._ **

_Florence will be delighted to accept._

** _You and Sam are welcome too, of course, with Nancy and Elwen._ **

_Thank you. We'll be delighted to attend. Which date?_

** _It'll be around the 16th. His birthday's 7th but we've got the Remembrance Sunday weekend, so we put it off a week._ **

_That sounds fine. The children will be very excited._

** _You'll be in with the Labourites, Cameron. So you're forewarned._ **

_I'm sure my nerves can withstand it._

** _I hope so, Cameron. People of a certain age, you know, they find it difficult to cope with stressful situations._ **

_Let me know how you're finding your nerves in three years, then. Obviously, an inconceivable amount of time._

** _It's a good sign for the country you're becoming more familiar with your figures, Cameron. When do you gain another year?_ **

_Just say birthday, Miliband. And 9th October._

** _Rich for a Tory to reprove others for hyperbole. And your birthday was last month?_ **

_Hyperbole isn't even the correct term, Miliband. Try loquaciousness. And yes._

** _Have you been spending more time with Boris? And I'm sorry. I didn't remember about your birthday._ **

_Don't concern yourself. It's forgettable._

** _Still. I remembered other years._ **

_You're Christmas Eve, aren't you?_

** _Yes. I'm waiting for the obligatory saviour being born joke._**

_I couldn't phrase that even in jest, Miliband._

** _Usually no subject is safe from your penchant for jest._**

_When you know you have a talent, it's difficult not to use it._

** _I'd say you have a talent for irony. _**

_That's actually rather touching._

** _I didn't say for you. It's me who has to face these lines at PMQs, you know._ **

_You're in an envied position._

** _I didn't think your attempts at humour could worsen, Cameron._ **

_You learn something new every day._

** _Certainly from you._ **

_I'm choosing to take that as a compliment._

** _I didn't say it wasn't._ **

_Was it meant as one?_

_Touching, Miliband._

** _I thought so._ **

_Thank you. If it was meant as one._

** _You're welcome. And we're not all Tories, Cameron, some of us do say what we mean._ **

_I might withdraw that thanks, Miliband._

** _I might withdraw the compliment, Cameron. :)_ **

* * *

_Just reminding you about the arrangements for Sunday. We have to be there earlier._

** _I have been Labour leader for five years, Cameron._ **

_Just a reminder. And that might be the entire length of your leadership._

** _What's that supposed to mean?_ **

_There's something called an election in May, Miliband. What else?_

** _You saw the articles._ **

_Yes, I saw the articles. I wasn't referring to that._

** _Really?_ **

_Yes. You can't really think that I'd refer to that, Miliband?_

** _Because Labour disagreements would bring you no disadvantage?_ **

_You know as well as I do that that's not true. But I wouldn't relish you leaving. At all._

** _Oh?_ **

_No. I wouldn't._

** _I'm sorry. I misjudged you._ **

_That's fine, Miliband._

** _No, really. I am sorry._ **

_I know. It's fine. Honestly._

** _Thank you._ **

_You're welcome. Also, being born on Christmas Eve-two consecutive days that are birthdates of saviours of the poor. Shall I ask the Vatican for your name to be included in the Bible?_

** _Hilarious, Cameron. Consider the other day's compliment withdrawn. Also, I'm Jewish._ **

_So was Jesus._

** _I am not Jesus, Cameron._ **

_That's one of the more intriguing texts I've ever received, to be honest._

** _Shut __up, Cameron._**

_You shut up, Miliband._

* * *

"He won't do it for me!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fucking _Alan."_

"I didn't realise you'd become that close."

"_Shut up, Peter."_

"We knew it was a long shot."

"Yeah, it was a fucking long shot. But it was a fucking good long shot and it was the only fucking long shot we ever fucking had."

"Again with the-"

"We're going to lose."

A long silence.

"Maybe not."

"You know we fucking are."

* * *

Remembrance Day is always a solemn occasion, but it's one of the few times that he, Nick and Miliband can appear to be in complete agreement with one another. Which is one of the only reasons he, Nick, Miliband and George are all currently in the kitchen of 10 Downing Street.

"You like to do things your own way, I have to say" Chris had muttered with a grin, upon catching sight of Miliband's car pulling up. David hadn't been able to resist grinning back. He liked Chris, sometimes thought no one could help liking Chris. The man had managed to work effectively with _Brown_, for God's sake. David sometimes wondered if there'd been some sort of hypnosis involved.

"You've seen the headlines" he'd muttered back. "How d'you reckon that's going to go?"

Chris had winced, glancing at some of the choice ones on his phone. _"New crisis for Ed Miliband as senior Labour MPs back leadership change", "Ed Miliband has "until Christmas"-"_I'd say 50/50 here."

David had blinked. "Really?"

Chris had nodded. "Those two were from the _Guardian_ and the _Mirror._"

"Jesus."

Chris had nodded again. "If Alan can be persuaded to take over-"

David had run a hand through his hair. "He's been asked to stand before" he'd muttered. "He didn't say yes, then. Would he really want to take over six months before a bloody election?"

Chris had shrugged. "Probably not. He's made it pretty clear he didn't want to come back even into the Shadow Cabinet, let alone take over the whole bloody party."

David had chewed at the inside of his cheek. "We'd need a whole different strategy. Probably what they're counting on."

"I wouldn't worry." Chris touches his shoulder. "The fact he's hung on this long suggests he's intending to stay. It's whether they're going to actually have the gumption to force him out. And their party might not recover from that image in the eyes of the public."

Now, David is standing next to the man who is still currently Leader of the Opposition, holding a cup of coffee, with his Chancellor and Deputy next to them, waiting together to leave for one of the few public duties that can unite them all.

"At least, this takes a bit of pressure off Sam" David points out as Miliband gazes into his cup of coffee, tie draped loosely over his arm. "She's always terrified one of the kids will throw a fit in front of the entire country, and we didn't want to leave them with Gita today."

Miliband's mouth twitches. "They take after their father?"

David glances at him and sighs. "Miliband, today is Remembrance Sunday. You'd think that today, of all days, we could show some form of solidarity."

Miliband stares at him. "I didn't know it meant that much to you."

"Well, it does." David lowers his head and waits for Miliband to touch his arm. "Um-Cameron-I-I didn't mean to-to insult you-"

David slowly lifts his head and lets a wide, smug smile spread over his face.

Miliband's hand drops and he glares at David, bottom lip jutting out. "Hilarious, Cameron."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Nick and George glance at one another. "No" they say simultaneously, before George touches David's arm. "Have to go. Duty calls. Or Frances calls, which is the same thing."

Nick shakes his head. "Terrible. Frances could hear you."

"Which she won't."

Nick widens his eyes and adjusts his collar. "Not from you."

George glares at him. "Oh, shut up, Clegg-" With a farewell aimed at the other two and a smirk at Nick, he makes his way down the hall and Nick turns to grin at David. "Just going to give Miriam a call. You know what it's like with three boys-"

David snorts. Nick should try having two daughters.

It's only once Nick too is out of the room that David aims another grin at Miliband. "Come on, you can't still be annoyed about the Remembrance Day thing?"

Miliband cocks his head to the side. "Ith that what you've written on your wreath, Cameron?"

David rolls his eyes. "Hardly hilarious, Miliband."

Miliband smirks but the smile disappears almost instantly as his eyes flicker to the tie draped over his arm. David follows his gaze. "What is it, the tie?"

Miliband's scowl is answer enough and David grins. "You need help with it, don't you?"

Miliband scowls harder. "I'm perfectly capable of fathtening my own tie, _Cameron."_

"So am I but even I sometimes go all fingers and thumbs." When Miliband doesn't stop scowling, David shrugs. "Excellent. Go on, then."

Miliband glares at him. The bottom lip's now sticking out so far, David could rest his cup on it.

Miliband glowers. "I jutht had some difficulty with it this morning-"

David smirks. "Come here."

"....What?" Miliband stares at him, bemusement creeping into his eyes now.

David puts down his cup, grabs the tie and loops it around Miliband's neck, under his collar. Miliband raises an eyebrow. "Not to imply anything, Cameron, but do you often think about putting, putting thingth around my neck?"

David blinks and his grip tightens momentarily on Miliband's collar. Miliband blinks. "I-I mean-"

David feels his mouth twitch. "It's how I fall asleep at night."

Miliband rolls his eyes and David carefully lifts his collar, wrapping the tie around gently. "Here-" David loops the tie into a knot, stepping a little closer and when Miliband tilts his head back, David's hand catches in his hair. "No, lean forward-"

He swallows. Miliband's hair is softer than he would have expected and their eyes meet as David pulls his hand away, finger brushing the back of Miliband's neck. "Sorry-"

He watches the movement of Miliband's throat as he swallows hard. "It'th-fine." David's never noticed how long Miliband's eyelashes are before.

He quickly looks away, focusing his gaze on Miliband's tie. He knots it carefully, pulling it through and giving the end a quick flip. "There. I'm becoming accustomed to solving Labour's problems."

Miliband rolls his eyes. "At leatht the modesty's starting to show." He fingers the end of the tie nervously. "Thankth, though. Just wouldn't seem to-um-go right."

"It's fine." David realises he's still got a hand on Miliband's suit and as he goes to pull it away, Miliband moves to straighten his shirt. Their hands bump into one another and for a moment, their fingers are gripping each other.

Miliband blushes, colour creeping up his cheeks, and David feels the warmth in his own that tells him Miliband's not the only one. "Um-" He glances down and Miliband does the same. David looks up and their eyes lock again. He swallows. Miliband is chewing his lip, dark eyes blinking rather nervously. David clears his throat. "Well-"

"Right, well, apparently they made it into the car with no disasters-" He and Miliband spring back from each other immediately as Nick stops dead, eyes flickering between them. "What?"

"Nothing" and David doesn't even have the nerve to make a joke about the fact he and Miliband have spoken at exactly the same time.

Nick raises an eyebrow but merely says "Come on, the cars are ready."

David hastens to the door and ignores Nick's questioning smirk and the fact that he and Miliband are studiously avoiding one another's eyes.

A voice that sounds a lot like Miliband's whispers in his ear about _Tories avoiding the issue_ and David tells it silently to shut up.

* * *

He and Nick have grown used to sharing a car over the last five years-ease and a desire not to pollute the atmosphere further is generally behind the decision-and so for a few minutes, a comfortable silence reigns. Then, leaning back, David asks "How are your boys, by the way?"

Nick sighs. "Active. Attitude-y. Stubborn. Won't ever listen to reason."

"Don't tell me that's going to be your election motto."

Nick arches an eyebrow. "That's a rather Miliband-y line" he remarks. "Maybe we should keep you two apart."

"Yes,_ all right."_ David rolls his eyes as Nick descends into another laughing fit. He supposes most Prime Ministers would consider him lucky, to be able to joke with his Deputy this way-his Deputy from another party, come to that-but right now, he's too busy focusing on the way Nick is sniggering helplessly to count his blessings.

"I don't understand why everyone's making such a big deal out of it" he says, once Nick's got most of his laughter under control. "We-we get on perfectly well-just because we've been spending a bit of time together-"

"Quite a lot of time for a PM and Leader of the Opposition" Nick points out fairly.

David sighs. "I never said I hated Miliband. For God's sake, I was friendly with Tony from time to time-they didn't make this much fuss about him and I."

"You did say you wouldn't call him a friend."

David glares again. "I was-downplaying it." When Nick raises an eyebrow, David shakes his head. "But they never cared about that. Or Gordon and I, for that matter-" He breaks off, annoyed, because Nick's spluttering again. "What now?"

_"Gordon and you?"_ Nick's gasping for breath, actually holding onto the door handle. "Gordon and you, _friends?"_

David glares. "I could be cordial with the man."

When Nick has finally managed to sit up and wipe the tears of mirth from his eyes, David sighs and leans back against the seat. "The point is, they didn't. Act like this."

"Well-" Nick's apparently finally willing to take the situation seriously. "There is an election coming up. I suppose everyone's presuming now's the time you'd be sharpening the pitchforks for each other."

David glances at his Deputy. "Is that what you think?" he asks, trying to make the question sound light-hearted. "That I'm sharpening a pitchfork for you?"

Nick smiles-Nick nearly always smiles, even when it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hardly" he says, in a tone that almost matches David's. "We're too busy sharpening our own." He flashes David a slightly mischievous grin. "I have been your Deputy for five years, you know."

It's November. It's getting harder to pretend that May is far away.

They stare at each other and then David raises an eyebrow. "Clegg, I hope that the Deputy Prime Minister of this country wouldn't even consider adopting such a nefarious method of blackmail?"

Nick widens his eyes. "You know me well, Prime Minister. I'm sure you must feel quite secure in your mind as to your knowledge of what techniques I might or might not use."

He arches an eyebrow and then winks and David can't manage to keep his face straight for another moment before he dissolves into laughter. Nick is almost as bad, barely lasting a second longer than David before he too descends into hilarity, shoving his hand over his mouth to muffle the worst of it.

Even in the mirth of the moment, David is surprised to find that he can admit to himself that yes, he is going to miss this. He doesn't know what he expected when he first held out his hand to Nick Clegg all those years ago. He doesn't even know what he expected when, in the few days after the maddeningly imprecise general election five years ago, mind almost beyond anxiety with tension and overwork, he first picked up the phone to Nick Clegg, with George miming frantically at him in the background, Oliver glancing between them, amused, as George stood there, jabbing his finger frantically at their conversation points as if David might forget them at any moment, but he knows it wouldn't have been him and Nick, five years later, sniggering over how they might depose each other.

He wouldn't have expected that the part of him that doesn't want to look beyond 7th May isn't worrying about just his career. And he wouldn't have expected that a part of him would still be dwelling on that stupid headline about Miliband being toppled.

He doesn't say that out loud of course, so his eyes meet Nick's and he just focuses on their laughter, which is, for the moment, loud enough that neither of them have to hear anything else.

* * *

"You and Cameron not come to blows yet?" says Ed Balls, falling into step next to Ed.

Ed rolls his eyes. "Not quite" he says, wondering just how long it would have taken for Balls to resort to that tactic had he become Labour leader and then if he's managed to forget the articles that have had them locked up in their offices for the last two days trying desperately to come up with a response, while struggling to work out the identities of twenty Labour rebels.

Balls snorts and claps Ed on the shoulder. "Then again, that wouldn't be a problem if you and Cameron are best buddies-"

Ed sighs. "I hardly think Cameron would consider me his _buddy."_

_And I hardly think you would, either._

Balls elbows him. "Could have fooled me." Ed resists the urge to remark _Easily._ "Hanging out at his house, reading bedtime stories, we're all waiting on a happy announcement now."

Ed tries to roll his eyes again but he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks and he bites his lip, ducking his head, furiously berating himself for not exercising his power and simply telling Balls to shut up. His eyes dart and Balls stares at him.

"Wait, we're not actually going to _get_ one?"

"Of course not!" Ed glances up to see Balls grinning and rolls his eyes. "Hilarious."

_Senior Labour MPs-_

Balls stares at him, laughter dying away suddenly." Miliband-you're _blushing."_

Ed glares at him. "No, I'm not."

Balls grins. "Yes, you are."

Ed can feel his cheeks becoming even warmer and Balls is grinning even harder and he can hear himself tripping over the words. "I-I am not blush-I am not blushing, I just-" He breaks off and Balls raises an eyebrow. "Just what?"

Ed sighs, glares, chews his lip. He doesn't look anywhere near Balls. "Cameron-Cameron may be coming to Sam's birthday party next week."

Balls blinks. "You're kidding."

Ed glares. "Sam and Cameron's daughter happen to be friendly" he says, in an attempt to sound as though he has no idea why Balls is staring at him as though he just announced he's helping Cameron hand out leaflets for the Tories. "And-" He swallows and forces himself to go on. "And I don't see any reason why we shouldn't. He was kind enough to invite Justine and I to his party the other night."

Balls stares at him and then slowly, sadly shakes his head. "So, that's Tory-hating off the table. Oh, sad goodbye to the days of debating whether Cameron or Clegg would be the more satisfying to punch."

Ed rolls his eyes. "That wath you."

"Of course it was. No offence, Miliband, but I wouldn't fancy your chances of winning that fight."

Ed sighs, though he'd rather consider this fight than the ones they've been poring over the last couple of days.

Balls grins. "Just remember you are running against him in May."

"I'm sure _he_ remembers that-"

"I meant, make sure _you_ do." Balls' voice is lower now and Ed is reminded of how nervous he was of Ed Balls when they first met, in those long-ago days in the Treasury, when Balls had been Yvette's boyfriend and even in his glasses, a lot bigger than Ed, and how Ed had just hoped he wasn't quicker.

"Just-don't go getting your wires crossed, Miliband. The last thing we need is for you to have the Tories infiltrating Norman Shaw South." He laughs. "Before we shove them back there next May."

Ed rolls his eyes. "They're not all the same, you know, Balls."

Balls snorts. "God. It's happening. We're losing you."

Ed sighs, glancing about at the people milling around them. He swallows hard, hoping that Cameron and Clegg turn up soon so he isn't the only party leader standing at the front next to the wreaths. "I wath pointing out it was a generalization."

"I just don't want you to end up forgetting you and Cameron are meant to be fucking _rivals."_

" I think I can manage to remember he's a _Tory-"_ _And I'm the one who beat you for a leadership_, he reminds himself.

Balls shrugs. "Fine. But does Cameron know he's going to be the only Tory at Sam's party?"

"Oh. You know-we haven't finalized the guest list-" They haven't really thought about it, if he's honest. He's not even sure what they're going to do.

Balls holds up a hand. "No. Knowing you, you'll end up inviting Clegg as well and then you might think that you'd better invite Osborne too-" Ed doesn't miss the grin that creeps to Balls' mouth at the mention of Osborne. "And then you might think about Gove, and the next thing you know, it'll be Prime Minister's Questions in your sodding garden with Bercow sitting on the patio roof, blowing party whistles and screaming "Order" when the balloon animals burst."

Ed glances around, wondering if there are any cameras nearby. Wondering what the commentators are making of his expression, of what he's talking about. Of how it _looks._

They'd been outside the house that morning, with Rachel standing by the door, peering out of the window, sending them off with clear instructions. _Just say good morning to them. Nothing else. Don't give them anything they can use._

They hadn't seen the boys this morning, he remembers vaguely. Or maybe briefly, but they were in the living room, watching TV with Zia, he thinks.

_Are you losing the support of your party, Ed? _one of them had asked, and he'd deliberately not looked at them.

_Morning_, was all he'd said, wondering if he should have taken Justine's hand, if that would have looked better, but deciding against it.

He hadn't thought about taking it in the car, either, and by the time it was time for him to get out at Downing Street, it was too late for it to matter.

* * *

George has seen David engage in a lot of strange discussions over the years but as he and Nick exchange glances, he thinks that, for once, they might be in agreement that this is the strangest thing they've ever witnessed.

"To be fair" Nick mutters, leaning in so that just George can hear. "It's what they do, usually."

George raises an eyebrow. "In Trafalgar Square?"

"They kept it together while they were going through arrangements for the wreaths" Nick points out. "And the ceremony hasn't started yet. They probably need to pass the time."

Both of them glance at David and Miliband, a few metres away, hissing at each other. George grins as he watches, as David and Miliband begin something that looks remarkably like an elbow fight.

"I wonder if they'll be doing that when the cameras come on" he mutters to Nick, torn between exasperation and amusement. God, if anyone _sees-_

Nick shakes his head. "Nah. Then they'll have to pretend to smile at each other. Probably text the rest of the argument in the car afterwards."

George sniggers, even as he struggles to keep a straight face. He has to admit David and Miliband together have always been the source of some secret amusement, especially during David's-many-post-work rants about how Miliband really is quite possibly the most irritating person he has ever come across (during which George has always nodded sympathetically and agreed that Miliband really is an utterly annoying pillock while simultaneously struggling not to ask if David ever gets tired of constantly talking about him.)

But George has to admit, while he himself has never hated Miliband-the man can be rather endearing occasionally, for a Labourite-he's always suspected that despite all their claims to the contrary, David and Miliband actually rather enjoy their spats. He rarely sees David as fired up as when he's debating Miliband and something about the way the exchanges continue outside the chamber has always provided George with no small amount of amusement. Something about the twitch of David's mouth, the awkward smirk that darts into view at Miliband's, always makes George look closer, generally with a grin.

He'd never ask David about it, of course. He likes being alive.

Now, however, George has to work harder not to burst out laughing. There's something really rather amusing about watching the Prime Minister-lean over to elbow the Leader of the Opposition in the ribs.

Nick snorts. "Imagine if he'd done that to Gordon" he mutters and George bursts out laughing even as Nick nudges him and whispers "Shh." George shakes his head, drags a sleeve over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Now, watching Nick watch David and Miliband, George wonders how this dynamic will change come May. He knows there's a part of David that doesn't want to think about it-that would like to brush it away under political announcements and strategies. But it's getting more and more difficult to ignore the fact that in a matter of months, it might just be David and George standing here, without Nick at their side.

It might be necessary but he has to admit, not having Nick and Danny there-Nick there to roll his eyes at while they prepare for PMQs, Danny there to jab in the ribs when David makes a joke they really can't let pass-isn't one he likes to dwell on.

(Plus, without Nick and Danny, George will be dealing with David's jokes on his own. And David's jokes really are _terrible.)_

But right now, Nick and Danny are here and George tells himself that May is so far in the future that there's no point in thinking about it.

He tries to pretend he believes it.

* * *

David's grateful the cameras aren't on. It means he doesn't have to be as careful yet-doesn't have to watch what he's doing with his hands, make sure to keep his face clear of expression. Which would be difficult when Miliband is being his usual aggravating self.

"Being _childish-"_

"It is_ not_ childish, it is a perfectly reasonable statement of fact-"

"I was pointing out that boarding school breeds a certain technique regarding emotion-"

"Cameron, do any of your conversations _not _revolve around Eton?"

"Apparently, neither do any of your arguments."

"Oh, for God's thake, we're at a _ceremony-"_

"Which hasn't started yet."

"You do know as the Prime Minister, you're meant to th-show a little more maturity than the average four-year-old-"

"This from the man who texted me four emoticons in a row this morning-"

_"You_ are criticithing my emoticon usage?"

"You didn't even use the correct _face."_

"Oh, well, my apologies if I didn't have an emoji the-thauruth-the-_thesauruth_ at hand-"

"It wouldn't be on hand. It would be on phone."

"Oh, _for God's th-sake_, Cameron." Miliband is glaring at his shoes and David finds himself biting his lip. It's the same whenever Miliband glares-he seems to imagine that it's a quelling look, one that will strike fear into the heart of his opponent. David, however, always finds it serves as a remarkable reminder of a squirrel attempting to warn another squirrel off his place on the branch.

"Which wreath is yours'?" David asks, once Miliband is looking a little less like an angry squirrel. He indicates the wreathes still being carefully examined, that will be handed to them in a few moments. Miliband jerks his head towards the middle of the three men holding a wreath. David squints at him. "Don't tell me you're taking up the silent approach, Miliband. Nancy does that when I send her to her room."

At the mention of Nancy, a shadow crosses Miliband's face. David frowns but a second later, Miliband is muttering "Cameron, you cannot accuse _anyone_ elth-se of being childish."

David rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Miliband, I'm trying to be _nice._ I did help you this morning."

"I would have worked it out, Cameron."

"Really?" David flicks the end of his tie before he can stop himself. Miliband stares at him askance. "If I undid it-"

He makes a grab for the knot in the tie and Miliband slaps his hand away. It stings more than David would have expected._ "Ow!"_ He shakes his hand and stares at Miliband, aggrieved.

"For God's th-sake, Cameron! " The words are snapped and Miliband is glaring at him, lips pursed. "We're at a _th-c__eremony-"_

David stares at him. "Fine." He tries to ignore the stab of hurt at the words. "For all your talks about cross-party dynamics-"

Miliband makes a sudden movement next to him, and for a moment David thinks Miliband is about to grab his arm. But instead, Miliband stops, his hand an inch above David's wrist, and hisses "I know you like to think of yourself as a compassionate Conthervative, _Cameron,_ so I'd like to think you could exercith-exercise a _shred_ of empathy right now."

David stares at him. The teasing edge is gone from Miliband's voice, his eyes are brighter than usual and the colour in his cheeks has risen.

"Miliband-" He reaches for his arm but Miliband jerks away. David swallows, wracking his brains for what he can have said, what he can have done to set Miliband off, what he _hasn't_ said or done-but then he thought Miliband wouldn't _want_ him to talk about the wretched newspaper headlines-

He tries to open his mouth, to make himself ask the question, but the words crumble before they can make it past his lips. Boarding school etiquette of avoiding awkward questions apparently still holds strong, he reflects glumly.

He glances at Miliband every few moments, occasionally opening his mouth, and then closing it as the words fail him. (David doesn't like to think that anything_ else_ is failing him. Like his nerve.)

After several moments of glances and of Miliband catching his gaze only for David to hastily stare at his shoes, he makes the mistake of opening his mouth for the third time and then failing to utter a word, and at this, something in Miliband seems to snap. He makes another convulsive movement as if he's going to grab David's arm but thinks better of it. Instead, he leans in so that only David can hear him.

"Look" he says, his voice a fierce whisper. "This might be a matter of duty for you but-"

David finds his voice then. "_A matter of duty?_ _What-"_

"I didn't mean it like that." Miliband takes in a deep breath and blurts out the words before David can embark on what was going to be a detailed and furious rant. "Look-I-I didn't mean it-I didn't mean it to th-sound like that-it'th-it's just that-" David's close enough to Miliband to feel him trembling a little and that alone is enough to shock him into silence.

"It jutht-my dad fought and people-people th-say-" Miliband bites his lip, clearly already regretting his outburst. But he swallows hard and, with a visible effort, turns back to David. "It-it'th not exactly-I-" Miliband breaks off and swallowing, shakes his head. "Forget it."

David stares at him. "Miliband-" and then he realises he has no idea how to finish his sentence.

But the announcement blares that the ceremony's about to start before David can get the words out and Miliband is staring steadfastly ahead which leaves David with little option but to do the same.

When they and Nick step forward, holding their wreaths, David chances a quick glance at Miliband and his eyes linger after he's laid his own wreath, as Miliband steps forward, holding his. He watches the way Miliband settles it down carefully, the way that he bites his lip as he bows his head, and swallows hard as he steps back into line. David watches and then snatches his gaze back to the monument, with all those names, feeling the guilt squeeze his stomach.

Nobody watching would guess there was anything wrong and that just makes it worse somehow.

It's after they can leave, when the ceremony is over, that David places a hand on Nick's arm and mutters "Hold on a moment" and then almost runs after Miliband who's already established a brisk walk. David rolls his eyes as Miliband almost trips over his own feet and feels a surge of some painful mixture of wanting to laugh and at the same time-he can't decide what else he wants to do at the same time.

So instead, he just calls "Miliband!"

Miliband stops as if debating whether or not to ignore him, then very slowly turns round.

David's standing behind him now and he swallows, wishing-not for the first time around Miliband-that he could have a speechwriter.

"I-" God, writing a three-page speech is so much easier that right now he'd take it, even if it meant a night of no sleep and Sam asking when he's coming upstairs and increasingly inferior coffee-"Listen-you're, um-God, I-you were right."

Miliband's brows arch and David groans. "Don't give me_ that_ look. I just-you were right, OK? I-I should have been more respectful. I mean I-I didn't realise it was disrespectful-but obviously-um-you were right. You were right-and well I'm-I'm sorry."

Miliband stares at him for a long moment. David clamps his mouth shut and feels the blood rise to his cheeks. He tries not to let his fingers slot in and out of one another.

Miliband raises an eyebrow. "If only you'd said that earlier, Cameron, we might actually have captured it on camera. Rarer piece of footage than a th-sighting of the Loch Neth Monster-"

David rolls his eyes. _"That's_ your comparison?"

Miliband arches an eyebrow again and David sighs. "I know, I know-but you're hardly _easy_ to apologize to, Miliband."

The corner of Miliband's mouth twitches. "And the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom returns."

David sighs. "To ensure you do not bring this up in every conceivable speech you give about taking personal responsibility for the rest of our careers-I'm sorry." He swallows and has to force himself to say the next words. "I mean it. "They're true but that doesn't make them any easier to say.

Miliband seems a little less sure of himself now, one hand tugging at his tie. "Ah-well. Thank you. I mean for-for th-saying that." He holds out his hand a little uncertainly and David takes it, their fingers squeezing each other for a moment."And listen-" Miliband swallows. "I'm thorry. That-I-well-bit your head off. I honethstly didn't mean-I thuppose-I'm just-a little th-sensitive-about-"

David touches his arm. "It's fine. I mean, I would never-I mean, it's more than duty. I mean-I hope I didn't give the impression-" He gestures awkwardly. "I was trying to-you know, just lighten the atmosphere-"

Miliband nods earnestly. "It's jutht that-I th-suppose it's just-a, you know-I mean, my father_ fought_ in the war-" He laughs, that awkward little laugh he does when he's scrabbling for words and David feels a pang at the sound. "I mean-not the Firth-First World War-I mean, he was an older parent, but-but not that old-" He laughs again, a little too loudly, and David feels a smile tug at his own mouth at the sound.

"It's jutht-" Miliband's clearly still trying to explain. ""I really didn't mean-it's jutht-I think about-I just got a-"

David's hand is on Miliband's shoulder before he can stop himself. "I know. I-I'm sorry about your family-" he says rather hesitantly. "I mean-" He knows that Miliband lost several of his ancestors in the Holocaust, remembers all too clearly the jibes hurled at his father over a year ago now. (When David had first heard about it, he'd snapped out even before Craig had finished speaking that of course he'd support Miliband and had then spent the better part of twenty minutes pacing his office wondering if it would be an acceptable use of his Prime Ministerial powers to get the Daily Mail shut down.)

A smile twitches at Miliband's mouth. "As anomalouth as it is to hear anything complimentary about my family from you, Cameron-"

David rolls his eyes. Miliband winces. "Sorry. And-thank you. Really." He touches David's arm and David feels the warmth of relief bloom in the bottom of his ribs. He lets himself smile and is rewarded with an answering grin from Miliband.

The touch lasts for several seconds, before Miliband slides his hand into his pocket. "On a seriouth note, do you think you could thay that apology again? I'd like to have a recording-"

"Oh, shut up." David reaches for his tie. "I worked on this this morning-"

_"Worked on thith?_ You _fastened a tie-"_

"I could unfasten it-"

"Get off, Cameron-" Miliband ducks back, almost giggling, as David reaches for his tie and almost steps into someone. "Sorry" they both say automatically but it brings them back down to earth and reminds them that they're currently both standing here, slapping at each other like two schoolchildren.

Miliband gives David a sheepish grin and David holds out a hand. "Shall we?" he says and the two of them head forward into the crowd to find their families, David's hand lingering on Miliband's shoulder a moment longer.

* * *

Behind them, Nick and George have stopped dead. George doesn't even notice when Danny drapes a yellow tie over his shoulder until Nick bursts out laughing.

George swats the tie from his shoulder. "Shut up, Clegg."

Nick shakes his head. "I'd make a remark but I'm too busy waiting for something."

"What?"

"The apocalypse. David and Miliband engaged in a conversation, where David _apologized."_

George stares at them, the tie still dangling over his arm. "Do you want to tell Danny to get ready to run the country with us or shall I?"

Nick picks up the tie and George glances at it. "Where did he get this from?"

Nick shrugs. "It's Danny and Lib Dem memorabilia. Best not to ask."

* * *

David's been accused more times than he can count by Sam of being too sentimental but even he can see that right now is not the time to be dwelling on sentiment.

George is insisting to Libbie and Nancy that he's down with the kids-"I know NWA, I've been to his concerts-I've seen your dad do Gangham Style, I just need Boris to help me-" Boris himself is laughing his head off, blond hair flopping as Elwen hangs onto his wrist.

It's entirely the wrong time to be thinking of sentiment-for heaven's sake, they've just seen Bercow do a pirouette to amuse his children while Theresa and Michael both watched, looking remarkably amused-but suddenly, David finds himself glancing around at them all and quietly, worryingly, wondering who'll still be here next year.

"Penny for your thoughth, Prime Minister." Miliband's voice is close to his ear and David turns with a grin to see Miliband raising an eyebrow. "Of course they'd probably cost a lot more in your case-"

"Thank you for acknowledging the value of my thoughts, Miliband."

Ed grins, that gawky, awkward grin that always ends up tugging a smile to David's own mouth. "You thertainly look thoughtful."

David sighs. "Just thinking about next year. You know-what it will be like."

Miliband smirks. "Don't worry, Cameron. I'll ith-ssue you with an invitation."

David stares at him for a long moment and then bursts out laughing. His hand brushes Miliband's shoulder as it travels to wipe at his eyes, shaking his head. For some reason, the remark isn't as annoying as it would usually be. Instead, laughter dying away, he finds himself staring at his children, wondering how exactly they'd take leaving Downing Street. (And then wondering exactly what type of fit it would send Lynton into if he knew that David was even contemplating defeat.)

"In all seriousness" he says, before he can think twice. "I mean-isn't it strange to consider that-what's going to happen after May-"

He waits for the typical _Good to see you preparing for defeat already, Cameron-_ but instead, Miliband shakes his head. "It is a little-" He trails off, his own eyes travelling around the room. "I mean-" He laughs then. "I suppose I'm uthed to you, Cameron. They say you can acclimatise to anything, after all-"

"I knew it couldn't last."

Miliband touches his arm then, one finger brushing his wrist, and David's breath catches in his throat. Miliband's eyes catch his and his lips part as if he's about to say something and then Libbie and Nancy appear-Bea has exercised her right as a child now attending secondary school to spend the morning at home in front of the TV-Nancy tugging at David's sleeve.

"Dad, we're walking Sam and Flo about-" Nancy is blinking up at him and then her gaze slides to Miliband. Miliband smiles and after a second, so does Nancy but her eyes linger on Miliband a moment longer. David frowns-Libbie's staring at Miliband too, but Nancy's watching him differently, chewing her lip, a little more contemplative.

"That's fine" he says to the girls and before he can ask "Where are they?" he feels a tug at the sleeve and looks down to see two pairs of large eyes fixed on his own.

"Daddy, if me and Sam get married, we are going to have _big house_" Flo says, her hand wrapped tightly around Sam's wrist.

"Is that right?" David flashes a grin at Miliband and ruffles his daughter's hair. Flo nods, blinking up at him. "We both get _money."_

"Wise decision." David chucks her under the chin. "Happy birthday, Sam, by the way."

Sam dimples.

"Looking forward to your party?"

Sam nods silently. "Mummy-Mummy and Daddy'll be-be there-"

"Of course-"

"They weren't there, yes-yesterday-"

David frowns but that's when Flo beams "We're going with _Nancy and Libbie", _sliding her hand snugly into Sam's and David nods. "Well, both of you be good."

Sam nods seriously, as Nancy takes her sister's hand. The two girls lead the little ones away and David turns to Ed with a grin. "Think you might have a little capitalist on your hands there, Miliband" he mutters and Miliband shakes his head, a flush at his cheeks. "You're loving this."

"I'm not denying it."

"Not denying what?" Sam swats at his arm. "Whatever it is, it makes a change."

"This is going to be your next line at Prime Minister's Questions, isn't it?" David says and Ed's already laughing before he gets to the end of the sentence.

Sam puts her hand on Ed's arm and David feels a strange flicker of something-something not quite like _annoyance_, but-but then Nick's speaking and he's distracted.

"So-" His Deputy's voice is irritatingly smug, the way Nick always gets when he knows he's right. "Take it our fears about you and Miliband killing one another may have been unfounded?"

David rolls his eyes. "I never said-"

"Well, anyway-" Nick continues breezily, as Elwen and Alberto rush past, prompting Miriam to call _"Tranquilos, chicos-_"At least, we can rule out the Prime Minister being arrested-"

David's about to tell Nick how childish this all is when a tap on the shoulder brings him round to face Andy Burnham. "Andy."

Andy smiles awkwardly. "Prime Minister" he says and nods at Nick. "Deputy Prime-"

"Oh, it's Nick" Nick chips in, before Andy can even finish the title. "Then again, no one else uses my name, at least not according to the headlines-"

Andy laughs. "I just wanted to tell you both-um-" He clears his throat. "Well, it's rather nice to see you and Ed spending so much time together. I mean-" He swallows. "Not that you spend an inordinate amount of time together-God, I'm messing this up-"

"You're not" David laughs, even as Nick grins and, reaching out to a passing waiter, hands Andy a glass of wine. "And-"

"They live in each other's pockets" Nick chips in. "The tabloids are getting jealous for me."

"Oh, for God's sake, we do _not-"_

"George." Nick turns to glance at George and Boris, who are currently engaging in a heated debate about whether prawns are better heated or cold. "Whose pocket does David live in? Apart from yours'?"

George doesn't even blink. "Miliband's. I mean, yours' as well, but Miliband's." He gives David a quick grin which is somewhat of a relief-David's oddly tense for some reason, anticipating something-he's not quite sure _what_-in George's answer.

"Shut up, George" is all he manages in response, which might be rather un Prime-Ministerial but makes George burst out laughing.

"Honestly" Andy says, lowering his voice and beckoning David a little away from the others now. "I think-um-Ed really appreciates it. The time you spend together. He'd hate it if he knew I was telling you but it's not exactly political secrets we're trading here-" A nervous laugh escapes. "I think he quite enjoys spending time with you, honestly."

David feels the blush creep to his cheeks and tries to suppress the grin that comes too easily as well as the spike of sharp glee that rises in his chest at the thought.

"Well-" He clears his throat. "It's-um-it's-well, it's more than reciprocated."

_Reciprocated._ Out of all the words in the world, he had to choose _reciprocated._

Andy laughs. "Well-I suppose everyone was a little surprised. At you two spending time together, I mean. Harriet was waiting for it to turn out to be an act of sabotage, to be honest-" The laughter falls from his face and he slaps a hand over his mouth. "Jesus, sorry, that was meant to be a joke but it came out the wrong bloody way-"

David shakes his head, that grin still tugging at his mouth. "It's fine. Lynton probably thought the same thing, to be honest with you."

Andy nods and a slightly awkward silence falls between them. It's broken by Andy taking a deep breath and placing a hand on his arm. "But really" he says. "It's not sabotage. Not that I know of, anyway."

David laughs. "Not that I do, either." They both smile and David knows they're both a little grateful when Nick interrupts the conversation to introduce Andy to Miriam.

It's not that David dislikes Andy-the opposite. In fact, sometimes, ever since playing a cricket match against him, he wishes Andy wasn't quite so likeable. Because sometimes, all he can see are the divisions that will be scored firmly into place in the next few months-and not just between him and Andy.

* * *

"This isn't going to work."

"I could have told you that."

"Why did you fucking go along with it, then?"

"Because we needed it to."

"You can't honestly be fucking giving up."

"I thought you were the one who said we were going to lose?"

* * *

_"Crisis For Miliband"_ is what Tom reads out, once Zia's got the children downstairs, away from the paper that Ed's now staring at, as though that might somehow rearrange the letters into a different predicted headline.

"I know what it thayth" he manages, after a moment. "I just thought-"

_Thought_ is another word for _hoped_ and all Ed can do is stare at the headline and shrug, hopelessly.

Tom squeezes his shoulder for a moment before turning to Bob, who's sitting on the couch, eyes travelling back and forth between them. "We need a plan of action" he announces, and Ed nods, grateful to hear the words.

There's a knock at the door and Ed jumps up as Justine pops her head round. "Everything all right?"

"It's fine" he manages but it's obviously not convincing enough because Justine lowers her voice so that just the two of them can hear. "Are you sure?"

Ed doesn't know why something about the question riles him. Perhaps it's the sheer fact that there's a myriad of headlines spread out in front of him, questioning his ability to be sure.

"I said so, didn't I?" He struggles to keep his tone light but a touch of something-not quite irritation, but close enough-creeps in.

He sees the words hit Justine, and immediately flinches himself, opening his mouth with no idea of what to say but Justine just says "Fine", her tone distinctly cooler than before and before Ed can get out more than "Justine" she's retreating, saying something about the study, the door closing behind her.

Ed stands still, staring stupidly at the door for a few moments before Stewart clears his throat awkwardly. "Ed-Lucy's on her way and we said we'd make a start before she arrived-"

Ed closes his eyes for a moment, silently opens up to another Sunday afternoon spent like this, clearing up the mess of some other disaster. Some other disaster centred around him.

Ed's getting tired of disasters that centre around him.

But he closes his eyes and then opens them and forces a smile. "Fantathtic" he manages, turning to sit down again. "Where do we th-start?"

As Tom reaches for the article to read out one of the offending paragraphs, Ed finds himself thinking, reluctantly, that right now he could do with Cameron to shake his head and say, with a grin, something about _Labour leaving homework until Sunday night again? _ Or just grin. Anything to distract Ed from the fact that this is his Sunday afternoon, and it won't be the last.

* * *

It's not until they're at home and the kids are in bed that Sam says "You seemed a bit quiet today."

David nods. "I suppose-" He swallows, makes himself say the words. "I suppose I was thinking."

"About May?" Sam says shrewdly. Off David's look, she says "Nick was telling Miriam the same thing."

David isn't sure if it makes him feel better or worse that Nick shares his concerns. "Well-it's just strange, that's all" he manages. "For all of us."

Sam touches his arm. "But Nick. The thought of competing against him-"

David swallows. A lot of it is Nick. The last five years might have had jolts but they've somehow come through them and somehow, that's made him value Nick even more. The thought of having to descend into the vicious tides of election in less than six months isn't one David's anticipating with any great joy.

"A lot of it" he tells her honestly. "I mean-it's just difficult-having to put aside anything-" He searches for a word. "Personal" he finally settles on.

Sam sighs. "Dave. I know. But-I know how much the election means to you."

"It's not just for me" David argues. "It's for-I mean-Ed's-Miliband's ideas-they're just not practical, for God's sake and that-" _That should make it easier_, is what he wants to be able to say.

Sam sighs. "It's like when I try to persuade Flo to take medicine" she mutters. "It doesn't matter how often I tell her it's for her own good, she still doesn't-"

"Sam, I really don't think Flo's medicine is comparable."

David hears the bite in the words the second they're out of his mouth and Sam's arm falls from his shoulders. "Well, sorry for using such a pathetic analogy."

"No, I didn't mean it like-"

Sam gets up from the bed, turns to the wardrobe. David is familiar with this-the way Sam turns away when she really wants to deliver a point. Sometimes, he thinks that they've got it all wrong, shouting at each other in the House of Commons-it's when someone turns away from you that you listen harder, sharper, because a part of you is wondering if you've already pushed them too far.

"It's hard, sometimes, to know what to say to you" she says, reaching for a long T-shirt, her voice quiet. "Your problems have to come first. And I understand that, Dave. I always have. But it just-"

"Sam, I don't mean for you-"

"Could you let me speak, Dave?"

David falls silent, as she stands still, clutching her T-shirt.

"It's just-hard" she says, without looking at him. "To always feel like your problems are-the less important ones. Even if they have to be."

David blinks. "Sam, you-you know, you and the kids, you're-" He tries to sum it up, any of it. What they are to him. There's no point in even trying. It's something he'll never be able to do.

So he settles on the simplest of terms that still say something. "You mean everything to me." He clears his throat and then-"You're all the most important things."

Sam sighs. "I know. I know and I know it's not exactly a nine-to-five job you're doing. But-it's difficult, sometimes." She turns slowly and David watches helplessly as she tries for a smile. "I know it's not your fault. But-it can be hard when you feel like you're stuck somewhere that's not your gig."

She shakes her head a second later. "It's stupid, forget it-"

"It's not stupid." David gets up, pulls her into his chest. "Not if it bothers you."

A hint of a smile dances at the edge of Sam's mouth. "Can we talk about it another time then? It's just, I'm tired-"

David nods. "I'm sorry. That I snapped at you."

Sam nods and after a moment, her head rests on his shoulder and he puts his arm around her, pressing a kiss into her hair. "Good analogy too, by the way" he murmurs. "Lady Thatcher would be impressed."

Sam laughs into his shoulder. "Is that supposed to be a compliment, Dave?"

"You decide." He feels her laughter vibrate through his shoulder and he tries to hold onto it, to catch the sound between his fingers, to play it over the _future_ and _May_ and _election_ spinning through his head.

* * *

"So we're giving up, then?"

"I wouldn't say giving up."

"But you would, even if you're not."

A silence. Then "Giving up on this, yes. Giving up on the party-"

"They might as well be the same fucking thing."

Another long silence. Then, "Do you mean that?"

A pause. Then, "Do I?"

* * *

Ed opens his eyes to see Sam standing next to the bed. "Th-Sam-" He glances at Justine but she's fast asleep next to him. He'd debated sleeping in the spare room again-it had been hours after Justine was asleep that he'd come to bed-but he'd ended up here, anyway.

He stares at the clock. "Sam, it's half-three."

Sam stands still, blinking at him over the teddy bear clutched tight over his chest. "I had a bad dream, Daddy."

Ed sighs, wondering where Zia is-he's sure Sunday night should count as Monday-Friday. But he knows Sam won't leave him alone, and so he swings himself out of bed, holding his hand out, muttering "Come on, then" a little too roughly.

After a trip to the bathroom, a trip down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and then a check under the bed for monsters, Ed's tucking Sam back under the duvet. He wonders how Zia does it without getting annoyed, without tugging the duvet too fast, wanting to get back to bed. 

Sam blinks up at him from his pillow. "Daniel pushed me in front of train in dream."

Ed does his best to keep his voice level. "Did he?" He pulls the duvet tight over his son, tucking him in, pecking an awkward kiss to his forehead.

"Daniel hated me" Sam says, cheek pressing into his pillow. 

Ed opens his mouth, but Sam's eyes are already closing.

Ed sits there for a moment, those headlines splashed across his brain indelibly, those murmurs underneath the party pricking at his thoughts. He can see two kids, hands knotted in each other's hair, separated by miles of ocean.

He sits there for a few moments, watches his son sleeping without touching him, and listens to his thoughts and in the midst of them all, the house breathing quietly around them, all in different rooms.

* * *

_Playlist_

_News Of The World-The Jam_ _-"Don't take it too serious, not many do/But read between the lines, and you'll find the truth"_

_Everything You Do-He Is We-"_ _Upside down off the ground is what you do" _ _...."I still get those stupid butterflies"_

_Fast In My Car-Paramore-"Been through the wringer a couple times, I came out callous and cruel/And my two friends know this very well, because they've been through it too/The three of us were initiates, we had to learn how to deal/And when we spotted a second chance, we had to learn how to steal..."_

_Come Undone-Placebo-"You don't know how you come across/Acting like you don't give a toss.../You don't know how you're coming across/You don't know how you're coming across/And I don't think that you're aware of the cost/So you come undone"_

_Cool-Tigers' Jaw-"It's a cruel world, but it's cool"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David did take his kids to Remembrance Sunday services-you can see him here with Florence in November 2014 and Elwen the year before:  
https://goo.gl/images/kSK4kL  
https://goo.gl/images/g8t5YA  
https://goo.gl/images/dGw5xs  
https://goo.gl/images/LZaGCK  
https://goo.gl/images/B4HFX3  
The videos of Ed and Justine leaving the house:https://bit.ly/2vPHiVG  
https://bit.ly/2Iw7reS  
You can see the Remembrance Sunday service here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcULqXU6L80  
https://bit.ly/2v7cY8J  
https://bit.ly/2VW5gcE  
https://bit.ly/38HBQSs  
https://bit.ly/2TCMe9q  
https://bit.ly/3cMhBG6  
https://bit.ly/2wFkkAM  
https://bit.ly/39GwRCE  
Ed and Justine and David and Samantha at the Festival Of Remembrance service before:https://goo.gl/images/MouYdD  
https://bit.ly/2TLiQwM  
The headlines refer to an attempted coup against Ed that was orchestrated partly by New Labour greats Alastair Campbell and Peter Mandelson, in response to Ed's poor ratings, during which they attempted to persuade veteran Labour MP Alan Johnson to mount a leadership challenge: https://bit.ly/2W9ebrt  
https://bit.ly/2VVGNnE  
https://bit.ly/2TzpjvO  
https://bit.ly/38BRhvp  
https://bit.ly/334WGtE  
https://bit.ly/2vIxQUl  
https://bit.ly/39xoNEd  
https://bit.ly/38HxXNm  
https://bit.ly/38FKZdT  
https://bit.ly/2vTNwUx  
https://bit.ly/3aK4wv9  
David and Boris did dance Gangnam Style together:http://dailym.ai/2VUurfH  
The references to Ed's father refer to when he was referred to by the Mail as "The Man Who Hated Britain", prompting David and others to defend him:http://dailym.ai/39EOZwS  
http://dailym.ai/2TAagls  
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-24343074  
https://bit.ly/33aVYew  
http://dailym.ai/2PUVl3h  
http://dailym.ai/2VXG2dL  
https://news.sky.com/story/cameron-supports-ed-miliband-in-father-row-10432803  
Ed does get annoyed if his kids wake him up:https://on.ft.com/3aGWxPw  
Samantha did say living at No 10 was tough at times because it wasn't her role: https://bit.ly/2IwSXeP  
George did amusingly recount an incident when editors being present meant a story was smothered a little: https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/diary---25-january-2018  
Bea did apparently stay home alone that day after a battle:http://dailym.ai/39CIwCy  
David and Andy did play cricket together previously: https://bit.ly/38uXB7O  
Ed and Ed Balls did have a famously difficult relationship: http://dailym.ai/2Iu1bEJ  
Chris was David's Private Secretary, who had served under Gordon Brown. He sadly passed away in November 2015:https://bit.ly/333LNrW  
David's boarding school line is a reference to this:https://bit.ly/3aDgHdl  
Baby Sam was a bad sleeper: https://bit.ly/2TUx0M0


	6. Airbound Exchanges, The Etiquette Of Dance Chairs, And The Strange Affection Of Disgruntled Labourites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which telling Andy to shut up is a sign of affection and Yvette can appear when least expected."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, let me know what you like about it or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) .  
The reference quotes in this one mainly refer to the breakdown of Ed's relationship with his brother. If you want to read any of the articles linked and can't, let me know and I'll make sure you can. :)  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_Perhaps the most important role Justine played is in supporting Ed through his struggle with David for the Labour leadership. Justine was one of those who supported his decision to stand-**"Life's an adventure. And you've got to seize the day"**-and told him he had nothing to be guilty about. Since David's defeat at the hands of Ed in September 2010, Justine herself is believed to have fallen out with David's wife Louise who, only a few years earlier, she had been **"in awe of" o**ver the latter's musical prowess and career success as a violinist. **"Louise has been nasty towards Ed and Justine can't handle that"** says a friend of the couple...In December 2010, David and Louise Miliband hosted a birthday party at their house in Edis Street for their elder son, Isaac, who had just turned six. But there were some crucial absentees. Ed did not attend the party. Nor did Justine or the pair's two children, Daniel and their then new baby Samuel. Ed's family live(d) a ten-minute drive away from David's. Guests who attended the party were unclear as to whether Ed was invited and declined the invitation, or was not asked to begin with. It remains a mystery. Perhaps understandably, both brothers refused to comment on the episode. But for friends of the Milibands, Ed's absence confirmed one of their worst fears: that the relationship between David and Ed had so deteriorated that it had impacted on the entire family. This, of course, had been their mother Marion's biggest worry, and she was said to have aged by several years since the summer of 2010...The once tight-knit Miliband clan chose not to spend Christmas 2010 together either. Despite Ed optimistically telling the press he was looking forward to spending it with his brother-and quipping that **"no peacekeeping forces were needed"-**David headed off to America to spend the holidays with his in-laws. The same thing happened again for Christmas 2011.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_Ed joined HM Opposition, and Harriet’s (Harman’s) team as a replacement for another Oxford economics graduate, Yvette Cooper, who was off sick with ME (and didn’t return to work until the start of 1994.) Cooper had read PPE at Balliol and then gone on to be a Kennedy scholar at Harvard University and a member of Bill Clinton’s 1992 presidential campaign. Ed had been sharing a flat with Cooper in Belsize Park, in north London, when he replaced her on Harman’s team. **“He probably did more washing-up than I did”** Cooper has said about her ex-flatmate, **“But he never cooked.”**-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan _

_David and Louise (Miliband) came round first thing with the boys. DM spoke of the government as though he were not really part of it. **"They're hopeless. There's no attack. There's no intellectual grip."** He said the Nick Brown school of politics had the upper hand, which made for a poisonous atmosphere. He felt even if DC (David Cameron) was not great he was not so bad that people could not see him as PM. He was articulate and he was presentable and not daft. Polls bad. Economic stuff bad. Louise said she thought it was all over. DM seemed to think likewise. He could not see where the forward agenda was coming from. Louise was very down on Ed, said that whenever there was a family event they tended to avoid politics, because they felt he was on a different tack. Louise was sharp, and very ambitious for David, perhaps more so than he was for himself. Fiona felt he would never go for GB, even when it was obvious someone needed to.-"Sunday 1st February 2008" The Alastair Campbell Diaries: Volume Seven: From Crash To Defeat: 2007-2010, Alastair Campbell_

_He went off amid a thunderstorm then DM arrived a bit later. He was definitely a bit steelier than usual. He said there was no doubt GB (Gordon Brown) had to go and the only question was how. He felt that the best way was for TB (Tony Blair), Peter M(andelson), PG (Philip Gould) and I to tell him, as the co-founders of New Labour, that he was heading for disaster and the best thing for country, party and himself was to go. I said I would be up for it and so would PG but I felt PM would not and TB would be unsure how to play things. He also needed to think through what happened if we did that-which we would do without publicity-and then he stayed. Then he and other members of the Cabinet would have to go to him and say the same thing. **"What you mean he'd put a gun to the party's head and blow it up?"** Well, he might. He felt Peter M was unlikely to move against him but he did know the situation was untenable. As for the others, he did not want to go into that. But he admitted Ed M could be a problem._

_David had been telling him for a while Gordon had to go but Ed was being told by some he should go for it too. I said** we may have to take you for dinner at Granita's.** He didn't seem to find it very funny. I said **does Ed think he could do it?** He said **we haven't really talked about it, but he is quite shifty about it.** I said **"If you can't square your brother people will wonder what chance you have with the country."** DM had clearly thought about it all a lot. He said his pitch would be that the Blair-Brown era was over and we had to put forward a new agenda focused on innovation economy, education back as the main priority-Balls would have to be moved or even removed-green, constitution, crime and ASB seen from the responsibility side of things, maybe Europe. We agreed though that Cameron had neutralised Europe or at least made it less neuralgic. He was pretty compelling as he went through it. He was a better communicator than GB. He was also able to engage people better and understood the need for a proper team operation...He asked me where I thought he was with public and media. With media I felt he was in a better place than a year ago and was seen by serious people as being a serious and competent player. By the public, though his profile had risen, it was still not huge, not part of the national consciousness, and that it was a bit geeky and policy wonk. He said he did not intend to be anything he wasn't-I liked that-and that he should probably be the serious man for serious times GB had promised to be, and he would resist the celeb stuff. I also said that whilst trying to build media support he also needed to rise above it.Both with him and PG I was talking up the Plouffe book and saying the psychology of the team was key-clear leadership, team building, risk and no blame culture. He felt he could do all that, certainly more than GB had. We went round and round like this for a couple of hours. Fiona was popping in and out, brutally frank, saying they had all fluffed it last time and now they had to make it happen. David said GB had been given the time he wanted and it had not worked. The unity argument no longer held the same sway. He admitted to being worried about the impact on Louise and the boys, but said in the end he had to do his best. He seemed pretty determined. We agreed to keep in touch.-"Sunday 22nd November 2009", The Alastair Campbell Diaries: Volume Seven: From Crash To Defeat: 2007-2010, Alastair Campbell_

_David was away but Louise was there, looking pretty tense I thought. It must be a bit of a nightmare for them at the moment. The GB thing, and also the Ed thing if it was true-and she was sure it was-that he felt he might have a go if David did. Peter Hyman was clearly of the view that those of us who were helping GB were giving him the credibility to endure and survive and it was a dreadful mistake..David M called round for a chat re the GB scene. He felt the fundamentals had not changed. There was a feeling of a mini revival because the economy was looking a little better, GB had made no big mistakes and that the Tories were not doing as well. But he still felt the general view was that with GB as leader we could not win. Harriet (Harman), Jack (Straw) and (so he thought) Alistair (Darling) all thought the same. He felt Harriet and Jack at the least were willing at some stage to go to GB and say he had lost the confidence of Cabinet, PLP (Parliamentary Labour Party) and party. He accepted that this could only happen if there was some kind of GB buy-in. Neither of us have seen the slightest sign from GB he might go along with it. He was sure that we would do better without him but accepted that if GB decided not to budge it could be very, very difficult._

_The situation with Ed M was interesting. The Guardianistas had been talking him up and Ed was definitely thinking that if there was a leadership election after a general election defeat he might fancy his chances. DM said he had been levelling with him about his own views and for two years had been trying to persuade him GB had to go. But he was also sure Ed would not betray him to GB. I was not so sure about that. He was seeing him tonight. They had to sort it out. I also felt DM could and should be more involved and engaged in broader thematic and domestic policy arguments...He still seemed up for what he openly called a putsch. But equally he seemed to me no clearer as to how it might come about. The big question was whether they would have to make the threat to resign and see if through if he didn't budge. He said Harriet was bullish. So was Jack, though terrified of anyone knowing he was even thinking in these terms. "**Don't put it in your diary."** He felt Ed was in some ways a more political animal and OK with the idea that you have periods of government and periods of opposition. He had spoken to TB who was willing to offer help and support but not to precipitate. I said we needed to find out subtly-and maybe TB could-whether there was any part of GB that knew some of them were thinking like this and what he would do if he did.-"Tuesday 24th November 2009-Sunday 6th December 2009", The Alastair Campbell Diaries: Volume Seven: From Crash To Defeat: 2007-2010, Alastair Campbell_

_David M came round after ten to return the Plouffe book I had lent him, and to chat over where we were. He felt AD (Alistair Darling) had done OK but that it was very Brownite, i.e. diddling all over the place. There was no big clear message. There was no real honesty about what was required. I asked him about his meeting with Ed M, the evening I last saw him. **"It was** **difficult" **he said. He does not think GB should go, and he thinks that if he does go after an election defeat, then it is not totally obvious that DM should be PM. **"Bloody hell, not another Tony-Gordon scenario-and even worse because you're brothers!"** He nodded, said it was not too good a scene, was it? I said if you can't get Ed on board it is tough. He said it had been a difficult discussion but also friendly and fraternal in that they agreed family ties were more important than any political divisions._

_I asked about the rest. He said that **"partly your fault"** there was a feeling GB was in a better position, even if in truth the fundamentals had not changed. He was sure Harriet was ready to move. He intended to talk properly to Alistair. Jack S was clear something had to give. I said there are not many there I would walk into the jungle with and he needed to work out, really work out, where people were. He felt that if this (a coup) was going to happen, it had to be in the next few weeks, possibly even Christmas. He went over his spiel again-Blair-Brown era over, policy agenda, a, b, c. He wanted me to think about how all that could be developed. When he arrived around ten past ten he said no to a cup of tea because he said he was not staying long. It was 11 before he left. He was certainly more impressive these days but I wasn't sure he really had it in him to take this on, and force GB out. As for the stuff with Ed, it was a re-run of TB-GB with the brother thing thrown in. Everyone saw David as the senior, but Ed was clearly intending to run against him. -"Wednesday 9th December 2009", The Alastair Campbell Diaries: Volume Seven: From Crash To Defeat: 2007-2010, Alastair Campbell_

_Then we set off for Chevening. None of the kids wanted to come so it was F(iona) and me. Ben Evans and Amanda were coming, too, and Ben was clearly seeing it as a chance to advise DM on how to get himself in a challenging position-literally if pre-election, less so if after an assumed (by him and most others) defeat. We arrived as the boys (David Miliband's sons) were finishing their tea. Did the usual **"What did you all do for Xmas?" **routine and it was not long before we were picking up on the negative vibes about Ed M, especially from Louise. When she and Fiona were giving the boys a bath later, she was apparently even more scathing. Ed had been busy cultivating the Guardianistas so that when Copenhagen failed he was somehow seen as a success. DM and I had a chat before the others arrived. He felt there was such inertia and defeatism that nothing was going to happen. He could do something dramatic, yet he did not believe people would follow. Harriet (Harman) had moved back to a position of fearing the division would damage us even more. Jack S(traw) was looking at his own position. My own view on that was that he was in some ways content just to have been someone who survived as a Cabinet member through the whole time. Alistair was fed up with GB but would not move. Peter was probably fed up with him too but equally would not move. I asked if he regretted not taking the Europe job. In a word, yes, he said. He felt GB was a disaster all around. He can't lead, can't unite, can't persuade, can't deliver a simple strategy and stick to it longer than a couple of days...He said that on political strategy there had been no real discussion so people followed what they thought was a strategy, or they argued in public, as over the class war, so-called. DM felt the playing fields of Eton jibe had been a mistake because the Tories were bound to take it to class war. Only if we let them, I said, which we had, with a succession of minister saying on or off the record that they did not like it because it cut off aspiration. It was a classic case of your opponents reacting better to an attack, so that eventually the attack blunted and died. The reason the Tories and their media supporters called it class war was because it stung..._

_Ben and Amanda arrived and we were back into chitchat and the political stuff only restarted over dinner. DM looked a bit diminished. At one point Fiona asked him what set him apart from the others. He delivered a rather trite thing about believing in opportunity. She said anyone would say that. GB says it all the time. **Nobody listens**, he said. We said he was in urgent need of proper organisation. I felt he had thought it would all fall into his lap. But Ed Balls was nothing if not organised. His brother Ed was organising at least at the media level and that was helping him to build support in the party. We sort of cut to the chase later on and I said what I thought, which Louise said afterwards was unbelievably depressing. I said David was seen as able and competent, and in many ways an attractive figure. But he did not do the touchy-feely stuff well-his brother was better-and there was a feeling he did not like getting his hands dirty. I was not suggesting a GB-style operation of undermining the leader, but he did need to up his game and get involved in far more than foreign policy. If he had decided there was no chance of unseating GB he had to throw himself unequivocally into the fight to win. If we won, he had to be seen as one of the reasons. If we lost, as the person who had shown guts, leadership, values and ideas for the future. But it was not going to fall into his lap. There would be a moment where he and Ed M were going to have to decide whether they went for it or not. **"I will book Granita's"** I said. **"It's not there any more" **said Amanda. DM was nodding along to a lot of what I said. So was Louise, especially when I said he needed far stronger people round him, and he needed a network of supporters and message carriers round the country._

_I asked what contact he had made with the new candidates. He said they were being invited in for a chat on how foreign policy could help them in their campaigns. I said you can bet every one of them will have had a letter and an offer of support from Balls and Ed M. Don't forget that while we developed our political skills under TB, they developed their campaigning skills under GB. So-Balls in particular-it was about the black arts. DM was right not to get into that, but he did need-without being disloyal-to build a better sense of who he was and what he would do. I felt if GB fell under a bus he would probably get it but if it was after a defeat, it was not so sure. He had to really want it and have the operation to go for it if Ed M was getting into a better position. He nodded at that too. Fiona asked if they could envisage running against each other. He said not. I said **don't rule it out, at least to yourself.** Louise looked a bit lost.-"Tuesday 29th December 2009", The Alastair Campbell Diaries: Volume Seven: From Crash To Defeat: 2007-2010, Alastair Campbell_

_There was a lot of black humour about what (William) Hague and Ffion (Hague) would do with this place. We were joking too about the tablecloth which they had not cleaned over Christmas. I said the cleaners were off pressing Hague's suits. It was a nice evening but a bit depressing. I gave DM a flavour of what Neil and Glenys (Kinnock) had been saying. He said he had tried to persuade Glenys GB had to go but she was having none of it. Fiona pointed out Neil of all people would feel supportive of someone subject to rumours and challenge-plotting a few months before an election. On the argument that if John Smith had gone for it (leadership) we might have won in '92, I said it was maybe an optimistic assessment but I felt the public tended to get the point at elections. When (Margaret) Thatcher came along Labour and the country were tired. Change was needed. When she went, the coutnry wanted change but was not sure about us yet. So they went along with a caretaker figure for a few years until we were. They gave us three shots. Now they are pretty fed up. But they don't like the Tories much, so they may well produce a hung parliament. Clegg becomes important. The debates become important. Above all we have to fight like our lives depend on it. Then we went back over all the things we knew needed to be done but which were not. A moment of light relief when he described what happened at a Cabinet meeting if they all turned up. Over thirty people invited to attend. Rosie Winterton. Pat (McFadden). He said Pat had tried to start a discussion about Lords and other political reform last week and GB had just shut him down. I wasn't keen to stay too late and so we left around ten after the usual accusations that I was being rude in being so direct about wanting to leave. Fiona said in the car she felt it was all a bit dispiriting. He didn't seem to have the strength or drive for it and they were both clearly thinking they had made a mistake in turning down the Europe job. It was also going to be very rough at the personal level if he and Ed were set at odds. It seemed pretty inevitable to me.-"Tuesday 29th December 2009", The Alastair Campbell Diaries: Volume Seven: From Crash To Defeat, Alastair Campbell_

_(Neil) Kinnock surprised Ed by revealing the main reason for his visit: **"I told him if we lose, given the condition we are in, he should run for leader. He did one of his Ed double-takes. He told me he had thought about it a lot. The basic question for him was, "When David runs, will I?" He told me he couldn't give me the answer. I replied by imploring him to do it for the party. Think of the party, not David...He told me "Because it's you who has raised it I'll have to give it more thought."**_

_In the end, Ed put party before family-or, as his critics would say, he put himself before his brother. Did he think through the implications of his decision? Did he underestimate the risks to his family relations? The day after Ed stood it so happened that Sue Nye (Gordon Brown's adviser) was holding a post-election party at her London home for Brown supporters. Ed Balls and Yvette Cooper were scheduled to arrive, but pulled out at the last minute, choosing to stay at home. Douglas Alexander was there and, though he had yet to declare for David, it was assumed by some at the party he would. On Ed's arrival Nye pointed out to him that plenty of people in the room would be willing to work for him, **"Therefore, you know, could you go and talk to them please?"** So off Ed went to work the room. In the midst of this, Anji Hunter, the loyal Blair aide but a friend of Nye's, approached Ed. She told him to look out for his family, especially his mother, because the press, she said, would be all over that element to the contest. According to one guest, Ed appeared taken aback, as if he had not thought through how damaging the contest would be for Marion-and the family as a whole. **"Good point"** he said pensively. _

_That is not to say that Ed did not think long and hard about **"the David issue"** but, as he himself now admits to friends, he **"underestimated how difficult"** it would be to go up against his own flesh and blood._

_Some David supporters claim that Ed had always been covertly plotting against his elder brother. Friends of Ed argue that it would be naive to expect their man only to have made up his mind in the forty-eight hours after David stood. Either way, the truth is that Ed Miliband, who doesn't like the word **"ruthless",** let nothing, including his immediate family, get in the way of his exceptional determination to be leader of the Labour Party.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

* * *

_"_ _She said she never envisioned him the type of person_

_Capable of such deceit"-Long Division, Death Cab for Cutie_

* * *

"You're not wearing them on the election campaign, are you, Cameron?"

David rolls his eyes. "I'm wearing these because I had to return from a meeting to exercise my constitutional duty."

Ed raises an eyebrow. "By _meeting,_ you mean _dinner _and by _constitutional duty_, you mean walking into a room to vote."

"I'm shocked that you would besmirch the institution of democracy in that manner-"

"Sorry, I need to laugh-I need to laugh at the idea that _you_ are talking about besmirching democracy-"

"Sorry, I need to laugh at the idea _that _you see a charity function as a dinner-"

"You ate off plates with _silver cutlery,_ Cameron."

David tugs his tails tighter. "Like you haven't worn them."

Ed's mouth twitches as he takes in the sight of Cameron in those tails which make him look exactly like the member of the Bullingdon Club he once was and yet somehow, does not render him entirely dripping with privilege and superiority.

Instead, Ed finds himself watching Cameron a little too long and he feels a little tug of warmth in his chest. Cameron's eyes flicker to his curiously and Ed feels himself grin, a little too wide, before he can stop himself.

** **

* * *

** **

** _Relieved not to have to face PMQs today?_ **

_Of course. It's painful to watch you try to come up with questions._

** _You know I plan them beforehand, don't you, Cameron? You are familiar with the concept of planning?_ **

_Really, Miliband? Those questions are planned?_

** _Hilarious. :)_ **

_Miliband, is that an attempt at an emojii?_

** _It's a method of battle, Cameron, to understand your opponent's weapons._ **

  1. _A) That was not a usage of my weapon, B) Is it also a method of battle to divulge your weapons to the enemy?_

** _Would that be you, Cameron?_ **

_I suppose so. If that's how you think of me._

** _Isn't it how you think of me?_ **

_I wouldn't say as an enemy, no._

** _Oh. I suppose I presumed that was your opinion._ **

_Well, no. It isn't._

** _Well, it wasn't you I was thinking of when I said enemy._ **

_Oh? Who were you thinking of?_

** _Nobody in particular, Cameron. It was more of a hypothetical statement._ **

_A hypothetical statement about a hypothetical enemy?_

** _It was hypothetical, Cameron. Honestly._ **

_No, I believe you. I'm just surprised. You actually spend your time picturing imaginary battles?_

** _Not literal battles, Cameron._ **

_With you, one could wonder._

** _Cameron, every time you use the phrase "one" you sound further away from the general public. You sound like Jacob, except he gets away with it because he sounds like Jacob. And for pity's sake, you can't have honestly thought that I was picturing genuine battles._ **

_Well, to each his own. :)_

** _You do know the difference between hypothetical and imaginary?_ **

_No, Miliband, I'm actually an idiot. Of course I do._

** _That first part's debatable. And you actually picked up a book at Eton?_ **

_Did you actually put a book down at Haverstock?_

** _Apparently, I retained more knowledge than you._ **

_Really, Miliband? It's been a year and you still haven't learnt the difference between intellectual self-confidence and intellect. And I read your speech._

** _Did you not learn to count the months, Cameron? Twelve, not ten, is a year. And thank you. I hope it proved informative._ **

_You actually kept a record of the date? And informative is one word for it. Though I'll admit it was rather good._

** _I believe that's what's known as being tainted with faint praise, Cameron. And speaking of dates, Sam's party is on Sunday._ **

_It wasn't intended to be faint praise. And anything in particular Sam would like for his gift?_

** _I think a lot of things don't come out the way you intended, but if it was genuine, thanks. And you don't need to worry, he'll have enough presents._ **

_It was genuine. And we'd love to bring him something. As I understand, young Samuel appreciates our gifts. Do you remember the hat?_

** _Thank you. And before you ask, I agree, the hat was lovely._ **

_I'm happy you liked it. He was a lovely baby._

** _I agree._ **

_Also, Florence will likely make him a card, and it will probably be covered in emojis. So you don't have to guess what they are._

** _Ah. Noted. And thank you, it's much appreciated._ **

_You're welcome._

** _Lovely idea from Florence, too._ **

_Thank you. She'll be thrilled._

** _I hope so._ **

_Really, you keep a record of the dates?_

** _Have you thought of getting your daughter to make a card for Bercow, Cameron? I understand he wasn't too happy with your side's performance at the debate the other night._ **

_It makes a change for him, being able to blame us for something for once._

** _Shut up, Cameron._ **

_:)_

** _Please, not again._ **

_:)_

_W**hat do you want me to do, Cameron, beg?**_

_What do you want, Miliband? To re-read that message?_

** _Point taken. I'll refer you to my directive a few messages ago._ **

_:)_

** _Very mature, Prime Minister._ **

_Shut up, Miliband._

** _Shut up, Cameron._ **

* * *

_Well, I'm seriously reconsidering the benefits of air travel._

** _Conditions of flights not meeting expectations?_ **

_Absolutely hellish._

** _He says from the privilege of business class._ **

_Sod off, you try flying twenty six hours._

** _God, right now?_ **

_I didn't mean it literally, Miliband._

** _No, I meant are you flying twenty six hours right now?_ **

_Yes. Of course. G20, remember?_

** _Well-Cameron, don't put yourself out. I mean, if you get home and you're exhausted, we'll more than understand if you don't turn up to the party._ **

_Is that a polite way of uninviting me?_

** _No, Cameron, it isn't. It's an attempt at showing empathy. I know Tories aren't familiar with it but it's concern for others._ **

_Actually, it's an ability to understand and share the feelings of another._

** _Cameron, are you Googling this?_ **

_No._

** _Really?_ **

_I have a dictionary app._

** _My apologies, that's obviously completely different, Prime Minister._ **

_Good to see you recognizing facts._

** _Honestly, I'm not trying to uninvite you. I just didn't want you to feel pressured._ **

_Thank you, Miliband. And no, I'm not being sarcastic. But by the time I get home, jet lag will have done its' work and I won't be able to sleep anyway._

** _You missed an opening there, Cameron-"I could always just spend time with you to remedy insomnia, etc."_ **

_I wasn't planning to use it._

** _Oh. That makes a change._ **

_Yes, doesn't it? Tories being the progressive party._

** _Cameron, I just dropped my phone because I honestly hope that is an attempt at a joke._ **

_Sorry to disappoint you, Miliband._

** _I'm accustomed to that, Cameron, after seeing your track record with promises. And honestly. Only come if you feel like it._ **

_Thank you, Miliband. But I'll be fine._

** _If you're sure. Haven't gambled away all our resources at the G20, have you?_ **

_No, Miliband, I'm not your former Leader. We check the price of gold when we sell it._

** _Well, that's highly original, Cameron._ **

_The truth lasts, Miliband._

** _Apparently, this is how you choose to spend your flight._ **

_Well, I'm bored and I've finished a book. Lynton and the rest are asleep and there's not much else to look at in business class._

** _I could purchase you a tiny violin, if you wish, Cameron._ **

_Hilarious, Miliband._

** _Sincerely. The world's tiniest violin for the world's smallest problems._ **

_I've now got a bigger one._

_W**as there a mistake with the caviar, Prime Minister?**_

_I was going to say I was speaking to you, but honestly, Miliband, you leap on caviar as the quintessential rich food?_

** _So you admit you're rich?_ **

_Of course I admit I'm rich. When have I ever tried to say I'm not rich? Do you admit you're rich?_

** _I'm well-off, Cameron._ **

_Miliband, your house costs more than mine did._

** _Honestly?_ **

_Yes._

** _I thought you spent money on renovations._ **

_That was for Ivan. He needed them._

** _Jesus, Cameron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that._ **

_I know. Sorry._

** _You don't need to be sorry._ **

_I do, I know you didn't mean it like that. And anyway, yes, aside from that our house was/is worth less than yours'._

** _Is?_ **

_We still own it, you know._

** _That's good news._ **

_How very subtle of you, Miliband. And at least, you won't be going down in the world come May._

** _That's quite true._ **

_Very amusing. I'm nodding off, you know._

** _Why don't you sleep, then?_ **

_I wanted to text you. To see how badly everything was falling apart in my absence, what Labour scandals I have to look forward to, etc._

** _I'm flattered. Even if I have to disappoint you._ **

_I'm used to that from you._

** _What, me being flattered?_ **

_Perhaps._

** _Well. Maybe you should get some sleep._ **

_Another uninvitation, Miliband?_

** _No, Cameron, this time, concern for your health. Those flights can be hell and since you're coming, I don't want you functioning on one hour's sleep._ **

_I'm touched, Miliband._

** _Of course you are. Now, go to sleep._ **

_Thank you for the advice._

** _You often need it. ::)_ **

_What was that?_

** _Shut up, I've never done that one before._ **

_Can I insert a LOL here?_

** _Cameron, I'm begging you not to. Plus, we all know your track record with LOLS._ **

_Shut up, Miliband._

** _Shut up, Cameron._ **

_:)_

** _:)_ **

_See, that was a proper emoji._

** _Oh, shut up and go to sleep._ **

* * *

"Now, remember to be polite to everyone-" David feels a little frazzled. but then he thinks he's entitled to feel a little frazzled. He _has_ just made a twenty six hour flight less than a day ago and now they're sitting in a car, two protection vehicles around them, in Miliband's street, about to go inside and celebrate at a birthday party.

He turns to straighten Nancy's collar and tidy Elwen's hair. "And call everyone Mr. or Mrs. until they say it's all right not to. And you must remember-"

"That it's a four-year-old's party." Sam swats his arm gently. "For goodness' sake, Dave, you're more wound up than they are. Are you sure the jet lag isn't affecting you?"

David actually isn't feeling the jet lag. Or he is, but it's there in the sharpness, the odd clarity of his thoughts which are running a little faster than usual. He knows that later he'll crash-he always does-but he's got a good few hours before that sets in, and he's determined to make the most of them.

Now, looking at Sam, he sighs. "It's just-they were _good_ at being guests" he mutters, knowing he sounds petulant. "What if we're not?"

Nancy raises an eyebrow in the back seat. "Thanks, Dad."

David opens his mouth but before he gets a chance to protest, Sam leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Calm down. Everyone's going to be on their very best behaviour."

The children are sufficiently occupied for Sam to reach up and whisper in his ear "And aren't you just a little worried that it's going to be just you in a room full of disgruntled Labourites?"

David reflects that he might have found more appreciation just staying in Australia.

* * *

"You should have seen Ed before you arrived" Justine says quietly to Sam in the kitchen, almost a little nervously. "I think for the first time in our marriage, he actually showed an interest in housework."

Sam bursts out laughing. "It was the other way round with us. I remember George staring at the washing-up liquid once, asking Frances if that was what you use to clean the toilet, though."

Justine laughs, taking another sip of tea. "I remember Daniel trying to help with the dishwasher. Ed spent two hours asking over and over how a three-year-old could be better at domestic tasks than him."

Sam shakes her head as they watch their husbands out of the window. Sam bites back a smile at the thought of what the media would say if they got hold of this picture-David and Ed sitting cross-legged next to each other, their eyes fixed on a parcel being passed around the circle, accompanied by a Pixar soundtrack and childrens' cheers.

"Been a lot to organize" Justine says, staring down at her mug as if she's not quite sure what to do with it. "There's been a lot on at work-we weren't really sure who to invite-"

Sam frowns, only now noticing that there do seem to be very few young children about-Flo seems to be one of the few close to little Sam's age. She glances at Justine, musing that surely work can't be that much of a distraction to organizing your son's birthday party, but Justine's staring out the window, and Sam follows her gaze.

David and Ed aren't the only ones engaging in the game-Andy, Ed (the other Ed-the one David spends just as much time complaining about), Douglas and Sadiq are all crouched in amongst their children, along with some of Ed's aides' kids and a few from Sam's nursery. All of the children are glancing between the adults with beaming faces, clearly thrilled at the sight of grown men behaving like they themselves are attending their fourth birthdays. There are a lot of grown adults there, Sam notices now.

"Not exactly a good example" Justine says ruefully, as she points out of the window. "For teaching them about patience, taking turns-oh, for pity's sake, Ed, you're not going to win-" she adds and Sam grins as Ed passes the parcel to her husband as slowly as humanly possible.

The music stops and Sam winces. David and Ed both currently have their hands on the parcel and immediately, both tighten their grip.

"Dad-" Nancy, who's sitting next to Andy's daughter Annie, leaps to her feet. "Dad, Ed's holding on tighter-"

"No, no, no-" Daniel's chanting now. "_Your_ daddy got hold of it, _his_ parcel now-"

Ed Balls lets his head fall into his hands. As Justine and Sam watch, they're both startled by Yvette's voice over their shoulders. "Oh God. Don't tell me I'm going to have to tell my husband off about sportsmanship in front of the children. Not again."

Sam reflects grimly that it's hardly Yvette's husband everyone should be concerned about. Her own husband is holding the parcel with a look of grim determination that only usually appears when he's watching the cricket.

"You wouldn't think he went to Eton" she muses aloud. "With these manners-"

She stops dead, wondering if she's made an awful mistake, but Yvette is already laughing.

"You wouldn't think Ed prides himself on fairness, either" Justine mutters. The children are watching avidly now. Sadiq is vainly trying to wrest his phone from one of his daughters, Balls is now watching the game keenly next to Ed's friend Marc, who's got his hand resting on the back of his pregnant wife, while Douglas appears to be using his phone to record the dispute, Eve nestled into his side. Nancy and Annie have apparently never found any event so hilarious while-Sam is amused to see-Elwen appears to be staring fixedly at a football, which seems to be being kept in continual motion by Maddy.

Sam and Flo are side by side, both of them with their big eyes fixed on their fathers in near identical expressions of awe. The disagreement seems to be gaining volume now and judging by the grins on both men's faces, this is not an entirely displeasuring experience.

"Right" Sam mutters, setting the empty mug down on the counter as the tugging over the present grows a little more frenetic, "I think I might intervene."

Justine drains her mug and follows suit, shaking her head. "Maybe they need a time-out" she manages.

* * *

"It was perfectly fair" David finds himself arguing with his wife. "Miliband was clearly contradicting the time-honoured rules of "Pass The Parcel.""

Sam glares at him. "We are _guests-_Ed was kind enough to _invite_ us-"

David glares back, his head buzzing a little with the lack of sleep."Traditions are what hold this country together."

"I can't believe we're actually having this conversation."

A few yards away, Justine is hissing angrily at Ed. "Worse than the _children-"_

Speaking of the children, they're all huddled a few feet away gazing at David and Ed and making absolutely no effort to stifle their giggles.

"Now" Sam touches David's elbow. "Go and play _nicely."_ She fails to suppress a grin. "Or you might have to go in the naughty corner."

David glowers at her and turns away to find Ed aiming a rather similar disgruntled look at Justine. He waits until their wives are safely out of earshot before he leans in and mutters "It was still my parcel."

"I think you'll find it was _not _your parcel-"

"That was your fault-"

"Excuse me-that was _your-"_

"Are you fighting again?" They both turn to see Florence and Sam, hand in hand now and beaming up at them.

"What do you mean, _again?"_ Miliband says , as his son pulls Florence's hand up to his cheek.

Flo beams up at them. "Again means _over_ and _over."_ She smiles and hugs David around his calves-the highest part of him she can reach-with one arm, the other hand still wrapped tightly around Sam's. "You _always_ argue-"

"Daddy says-like brick _wall-_cord-cordal-brick _wall-"_ Sam chips in.

"It's _cordial"_ Miliband corrects his son, then looks anxiously at David who raises an eyebrow at him. "I said it once."

"No, Daddy, Daddy said-"

"Hey." Andy, who has appeared from nowhere, swoops down, lifting both Florence and Sam effortlessly. "What's all this about daddies arguing?"

"Our daddies argue" Flo informs him solemnly and Andy widens his eyes. "Your daddies are arguing? That's not good, is it?"

Sam shakes his head.

Andy smirks at them both over the children's heads. "Well, some of the others are playing a bit of football out there" he says, indicating with a jerk of the head a group of kids including Elwen, Maddy, Rosie and Annie all happily kicking a ball back and forth. "Do you two want to join in?"

Florence nods excitedly and after a moment, Sam does too-a little less excitedly. David glances at Miliband and sees him watching his son worriedly.

Florence, too, is watching Sam, with her head tilted. "What's wrong?" she burbles, taking his little hand and squeezing it between her own.

Sam chews his lip. "I like-I like football" he babbles, turning two big dark eyes upon his father. "But b-ball doesn't go-go where-"

David thinks he sees Miliband wince. His hand hovers awkwardly, as though wanting to reach out but not quite sure how to.

David frowns but puts his own hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry, Sam. I wasn't very good at football, either. It took me years to get the hang of it."

Flo beams, big blue eyes shining. "You-you not very good at football now, Daddy. Elwen beats you."

Ed and Andy both bite their lips hard as David scowls. "He doesn't _always."_

* * *

* * *

Childrens' parties, Ed has decided, are exhausting. 

Having watched about ten renditions of "Happy Birthday", chanted so that each sufficiently young child can have a go at blowing the candles out-Justine had worried excessively about the hygiene of such an approach-and following several excitable rounds of party games, Ed now finds himself glancing longingly at the clock and wondering at the boundless energy of four-year-olds.

"They don't tire easily, do they?" Ed turns at Cameron's voice to see the other man standing beside him with a grin. "Could do with some of that energy when I'm up late working."

Ed agrees but he can't resist the chance to say it, so he takes a sip of his drink and says "I could do with that football during Prime Minister's Questions."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "For protection? Ignoring your Shadow Chancellor's advice again, Miliband?"

Ed raises an eyebrow. "Only as you continually advise-"

"Do I hear slurs on my husband's good name?" Yvette has appeared out of nowhere, causing Ed to jump and Cameron to smirk triumphantly. She taps Ed on the shoulder. "Because honestly, that's my job."

She glances across the room at the other Ed and Andy who currently seem to be engaged in some kind of wrestling match, much to the delight of all the children. "God, I don't know which ones are supposed to be the adults" she mutters, taking a last sip of her drink, and then taps Ed on the shoulder. "And you'd think you'd have got used to that trick by now, I was always sneaking up on you when we were in the flat-"

Ed turns to glare but Cameron's already smirking. "I always forget the two of you shared a flat once."

Yvette laughs. "Lucky you." She smiles at Ed, a little more mischievously this time. "Then again, it gives me some wonderful stories. Like the time you-"

Ed cuts in before Yvette can launch into one of her many stories that will undoubtedly paint Ed in a far worse light than the unvarnished truth. (Especially the one about the banana and the thong.)

"Anyway-" He's met with two identical grins and reflects briefly that it might not have been the best idea to allow Yvette and Cameron to meet outside of a professional context.

Cameron smiles at Yvette. "I think those stories may have to be shared under the Freedom of Information Act-"

Yvette grins. "This might be one of the few times I find myself in agreement with the Prime Minister, Mr. Speaker-"

"Hilarious" Ed manages as Yvette dissolves into laughter. Cameron's faring no better and Ed rolls his eyes as Yvette's attention is distracted by a particularly loud shout from across the room.

"Oh, for pity's sake-" he hears her mutter and then she's heading over to the corner where her husband now appears to be holding Andy in a headlock.

Ed rolls his eyes. Cameron stares at him. "So Bullingdon Boys aren't the only ones with skeletons in their closets then?"

Ed blinks. "How do you know she put the skeleton in the closet?"

Cameron stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing.

Daniel wanders between their legs, chewing a fairy cake. Behind them, Flo and Sam appear to be scribbling on each other's arms, Nancy touching Liz's rounded stomach gently, whilst Elwen is being chased by Maddy who appears to be trying to attack him with a feather boa.

Ed sighs and glances at Cameron. "The side of your face is still red" he remarks. "Looks like the crimson tide is back."

"That ball should be listed as a military-grade _weapon."_

Ed smirks at him. "Honestly, are you OK?"

Cameron shrugs and puts a hand to his cheek. "I've had much worse from Flo. When she was two, her favourite way of waking me up was to jump right into my chest."

Ed laughs and Cameron shakes his head as he raises a hand to the still flushed skin of his cheek. "Honestly, I'm fine" he says, with a small smile. Ed bites his lip, feeling a strange jolt at the sight of the smile that's leaving him more than a little confused-the same feeling that rose up at the sight of Cameron's soliloquy earlier being cut off by a ball to the face.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it-Cameron's distracted by a tug at the sleeve. Nancy's standing still, staring up at her father.

"Having a good time, sweetheart?" Cameron puts an arm around his daughter's shoulders, only for Nancy to give him a scandalised look. Cameron raises his hand. "Sorry, forgot the cardinal rules."

Nancy rolls her eyes. But she glances around to make sure nobody's looking and then grabs her dad's sleeve for a moment, causing a smile to ghost briefly across Cameron's mouth. Ed watches and that flicker of feeling is back for a moment, a smile spreading across his own mouth as he watches the tenderness in Cameron's eyes as he looks at his daughter.

"Feeling all right, Nancy?" David asks, his voice softer this time and Nancy nods but she doesn't let go of her father's sleeve.

"Tired" she says, after a moment and David hugs her closer, clearly without thinking.

Nancy rolls her eyes. _"Dad" _she says but her tone lacks any vehemence and she huddles into him for a second more. Her eyes meet Ed's through the gap in her father's arms.

Ed smiles but the memory of his last conversation with Nancy niggles underneath and he's careful to keep his voice light as he says "How have you been, Nancy?"

Nancy blinks at him." Fine." She blinks up at him, pouts a little. "How are you?" she says and Ed knows then that she hasn't told Cameron about their conversation and nor does she plan to.

"I've been well" he says but he studies Nancy's face as surreptitiously as he can. Her eyes flicker away and she buries her head in her father's shirt.

Cameron looks confused but strokes Nancy's hair gently. Ed watches, bemused, wondering how Cameron finds the affection so easy. When she pulls away, Ed stares after her as she trots off to join Annie.

"Every time I think I've got it worked out..." David mutters and then shakes his head. "She _has_ been a little up and down lately, though."

Ed stares from Nancy's retreating back to Cameron and the look on his face as he watches his daughter. Something aching rises in his throat so that for a moment, he has to swallow and blink at the sudden prickling of something at his eyes. He blinks, astonished, quickly ducking his head, and before he can stop himself, he's saying "Cameron."

Cameron blinks, lifting his gaze to Ed's. "Yes?"

Ed opens his mouth then closes it again. They're in the middle of his son's birthday party and he doesn't even know what to_ say_ to Cameron. What _is_ there to say?

He sighs at the impossibility of explaining it and especially explaining it now so he just looks at Cameron and says "Nothing."

Cameron gives him an uncertain smile and Ed forces himself to return it and tries not to feel the point tracing his lips, the sharp little jab of a lie.

* * *

Sam takes another sip of her drink and watches idly as little Sam laughs joyously as he dances back and forth with Flo. Behind them, she can see David and Ed, clearly engaged in their usual exchange of insults, each smirking when they think the other isn't looking. 

Justine follows her gaze again. "For two people who are supposed to disagree" she muses, taking another sip of tea. "They can certainly get on well when they want to."

Sam laughs. "I think they enjoy the disagreeing. David's never able to let go of an argument-Ed gives him a run for his money."

"At least you two get a break during the day." They both turn to see Douglas standing behind them, also with his eyes trained on David and Ed. He shakes his head. "On the other hand_, that-"_ He indicates David and Ed, with a tilt of the forehead_. "That_ is our work life."

Justine laughs, for the first time, Sam thinks, in a few hours. "You think we get a _break?"_ she splutters at exactly the same moment that Sam bursts out with "You think we have it _easy?"_

Douglas holds up his hands. "I never learn" he says as both Sam and Justine fix their gazes on him.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Evidently. And if you think we don't have to put up with _this-"_

Justine rolls her eyes. "Ed woke me up asking which emoji to send to your husband the other night."

Sam covers her mouth. "Oh God, I'm sorry. David tried to use the term _emoji _a few weeks back and I thought Nancy was going to collapse."

Douglas snorts. "Brace yourself" he warns her. "Eve and Douglas? Want nothing to do with you in front of their friends. But at home, when they've spent all their pocket money, suddenly, you're the Bank of Mum and Dad."

Sam laughs. "Oh, we're definitely the Bank of Mum and Dad for Nancy. And Elwen's starting that way, too." She notices that Douglas and Justine's eyes meet for only a second, and then dart away from each other.

Frowning, she watches her own husband for a moment, watches him touch Ed's elbow to get his attention. She watches quietly and after a moment, becomes aware that she isn't the only one watching.

"I'm starting to think you're right" Justine murmurs just to her. "They do like the disagreeing."

She blinks as she says it and Sam glances at her as a shadow crosses her face. Or Sam thinks it does, but then Justine smiles and says "Too bad for us" and Sam thinks she must have imagined the whole thing after all.

* * *

After a few rounds of Musical Chairs (Andy and the other Ed get into a heated discussion of who was first to a chair that culminates in another headlock and a round of cheers from the children), one round of Pin The Tail On The Donkey (other Ed tries sticking his fingers over Yvette's head while she's blindfolded and promptly receives an unerringly accurate smack on the shoulder) and one round of "Who Am I?" later (Douglas gets Taylor Swift and is mercilessly ribbed by Eve, Nancy and every other girl present after various guesses including Brad Pitt, Marilyn Manson, and Kate Bush), Sam screams for Musical Dance Chairs which Ed has to have explained to him is a game involving two people walking together round a chair hand-in-hand and then fighting to get on the chair first.

Sam and Flo are small enough to scramble onto the chair together which makes their go a draw. After the previous Musical Chairs debacle, Yvette's not letting Andy and other Ed near each other so she and her husband end up duking it out over the seat-which Yvette wins easily. It appears Maddy's inherited her mother's qualities as she happily scrambles onto the seat and promptly makes use of her elbow to shove Joel furiously, and the two end up in a stalemate when both dive for the chair furiously and manage to knock it over. Douglas and Andy provide a slightly less vehement battle with Andy raising his hands in triumph, football reflexes clearly standing him in good stead.

Then Sam turns to his father, eyes bright. "Daddy, Daddy, you go-"

"You want me to have a go?" Ed glances at Cameron automatically, wondering if this is the norm.

Sam nods. "And-and me and Florence want-"

_"You_ go!" Florence interrupts, hurling herself into her father's chest with the force of a hurricane. "Daddy, we want you and _Sam's daddy_ to go!"

Ed swallows as a ripple of laughter echoes through the room. Samantha is laughing, clapping at the suggestion. Nancy's rolling her eyes while Elwen and Maddy burst out laughing. Andy and Douglas are smirking while the other Ed puts paid to any pretence of tact and yells out "Give us something for You've Been Framed!" which earns him another elbow from Yvette, prompting an exclamation of "Ow, this is _abuse_, woman-"

Ed stares down at his son's shining eyes. Next to him, Daniel is laughing too, and Ed bites his lip, torn. "Sam-"

"Please, Daddy, please-" He tries to remember the last time Sam asked him for something.

Trapped, Ed glances at Cameron for a signal. He too is dealing with the bright pleading eyes of his own daughter. _"Please,_ Daddy, dance, _dance-"_

Cameron, holding his daughter by the shoulders, glances at Ed with exactly the same expression. The cheers are growing louder and the children are staring up at them with wide-eyed, beseeching looks. Sam's lip is beginning to tremble ominously.

He forces himself to look at Cameron. It's no big deal, he tells himself. It's just a _game,_ for heaven's sake-

Cameron's staring back at him. He's smiling but there's a tension in the smile, the blue eyes a little wider than usual. As he steps towards Ed, he worries at his lip for less than a second, but Ed catches it and a sharp pang of something is suddenly _there_ in his chest and for a second he's staring at Cameron stupidly until there's a tug at his sleeve. He looks down to see both of his sons staring up, pleading eyes fixed on him.

Ed sighs, and, patting Sam's head, turns towards Cameron. The room erupts into cheers.

He and Cameron stop on either side of the chair and-

Cameron's eyes are blue. Ed hasn't noticed how blue they are before and it takes him by surprise. He grips the back of the chair awkwardly, trying to smile.

Cameron looks as though he's facing the same struggle. "Don't worry, Miliband" he says, "I'll go easy on you."

Ed laughs. "Bullingdon spirit showing in Musical Chairs, Cameron?"

There's another ripple of laughter, interspersed with Daniel's "Musical _Dance_ Chairs, Daddy", and Cameron's mouth twitches. They stand there, both their hands gripping the chair.

"Ready?" calls Douglas, who's manning the music.

"Wait!" Ed looks round at the other Ed's voice to see him lifting his phone. "I want to capture this on video."

Andy almost chokes. _"Video?_ What _are_ you, Grandad? _Video?"_

"Shut it, Burnham-"

Yvette's arms shoot out, each hand catching one of their wrists and forcing them down to their sides. Her husband defiantly raises his other hand, clutching the phone.

Ed turns back to Cameron, his heart beating a little too fast. "OK-" He tries to raise an eyebrow but isn't sure how it comes out. Cameron smiles at him and nods. "Yeah" he says and Ed blinks at the abbreviation in Cameron's clipped polished voice. It buzzes in his chest and he can feel his heartbeat. He thinks of mice hearts, that beat so fast they sound like they're humming.

It's just a game and the music starts, a few strains of Pink Floyd that Douglas turns to a pop song, something bouncing and lively that vibrates under his feet. It's just a game and Ed sticks his hand out, tries to raise his eyebrows, silently daring Cameron.

Cameron takes his hand and Ed swallows nervously. Cameron's hand is warmer than he expected and bigger than his own. His fingers fold uncertainly around Ed's, loosely at first, then folding a little tighter. Ed's acutely aware of the dampness at his hairline, the music beating too loud around them. He wonders vaguely what to do with his other hand and then Cameron tugs at his wrist awkwardly, starting their circle round the chair.

There are a few wolf whistles-mostly from Burnham and Balls-a round of cheering, a shout of "You call _that_ dancing?" and Ed is seriously considering ejecting Balls from this party. His son and Florence are both squealing, their voices clashing together, their laughter ringing with the music. Ed is looking at the back of the chair and Cameron's hand, fingers braided through his own and then he's looking up and Cameron is looking at him. Cameron's eyes are too blue this close.

Ed just keeps his feet moving, hoping against hope that he can keep himself upright, and Cameron's hand is warm and strong around his own. He bites his lip, his own fingers flexing, worried he's squeezing Cameron's hand too tightly and then Cameron's hand squeezes gently in his, so quickly Ed's almost sure he imagined it. Cameron's eyes are wide when he looks up again and he stares back, waiting for Cameron to look away. He almost bumps into the leg of the chair but Cameron guides him round. For a moment, they're closer, him almost catching up with Cameron, and he holds onto his hand tighter without thinking. He can smell soap and aftershave and something about it is so _Cameron_ that Ed's breath catches in his throat. Cameron's finger brushes his pulse and he gulps, his legs almost becoming tangled. For a moment, he and Cameron squeeze at exactly the same time, each gripping the other's hand. He feels Cameron's breath catch as well as hears it, at the same time as his own.

Ed's cheeks are too warm, Cameron's hand too gentle around his own and something about the whole moment-Cameron's worrying at his lip, his sleeves peeking out from under his jumper, Cameron's eyes, with those jet-lagged shadows underneath flickering nervously to his own, and how close they are-is knocking Ed's thoughts off-balance, his hand still in Cameron's-

The music stops and both he and Cameron reel for a moment as if they've been slapped awake. It's then that Ed's mind claws at the whole point of the game and he dives for the seat at exactly the same moment Cameron does.

The two of them crash into each other, both falling onto the seat. Unfortunately, neither of them is as small as their children and the chair is tipping back. Ed's foot catches the floor, bringing the chair down and then he and Cameron are both falling forward, crashing to the floor in a tangled heap.

The laughter bursts out instantly and for a second Ed just lies there, breath loud in his ears, his heart pounding. He can feel Cameron's shoulders rising and falling, gasping against his own chest, and he can feel Cameron's pulse rapid against his skin, where his head is wedged against Cameron's neck.

It's then he realises he's half-draped over Cameron, his hair brushing Cameron's chin. The music is suddenly loud again, Cameron's neck hot against Ed's cheek and Ed's head darts up only to realise his and Cameron's legs are still tangled together. Cameron leans back, still gasping and their eyes meet. Ed swallows, the clapping, the high-pitched laughter ringing in his skull, the song playing too loudly._ We were victims of the night,_ crashes into his ears and he stares at Cameron, at the flush of the other man's cheeks, the blue eyes wider than Ed remembers as they hastily untangle themselves. They fall against each other somehow, which prompts another wave of delighted laughter from the children and a yell from Balls of "Get a room, the pair of you!"

Ed manages to half-pull himself upright and reaches out automatically for Cameron, who's still on the floor. Their fingers wrap around one another again and he pulls Cameron upright, the two of them standing much closer than usual, their chests still rising and falling. Ed stares at Cameron and tries to smile, to do anything other than focus on what just happened, searching for a line to throw at Cameron, anything-

Cameron, grinning, extends a hand. "Didn't anyone tell you it's polite to let your guests win, Miliband?"

Ed hears Justine's laugh and he forces himself to look at Cameron, a smile already pushing at his mouth. "So you admit you need me to let you win?" is what he says to another burst of laughter.

Cameron laughs, the sound lower than usual, and his eyes meet Ed's. Ed takes his hand and they shake once, his heart still beating too loudly. Cameron's eyes are too close, that smile too near to Ed's own and Cameron mutters "I was letting you off, Miliband."

"Keep telling yourself that, Cameron." Their smiles catch in the air, hold each other's eyes and then their gazes dart away as they turn back to the others. Their fingers linger together for a moment, the music still beating underneath their feet, their hands falling apart but the grip of Cameron's fingers around Ed's hand still warm there, like a ghost holding on.

* * *

Andy has decided it would be childish to refuse to speak to Ed (even after the blatantly unfair decision over the chair) and so he decides to make the first move at peace. Extend the olive branch. Be the bigger man.

Also, he urgently needs someone to snigger with at Cameron and other Ed's performance at Musical Dance Chairs and Ed Balls is nothing if not someone who enjoys sniggering.

He edges up to Balls' side as Cameron and other Ed get accosted by their children and Balls snorts before Andy can open his mouth. "Whatever the hell that was, it's going to be a struggle not to bring it up at PMQs. Christ, I don't know which one I felt worse for."

Andy snorts. "Trust me, Ed's the one who ended up on Cameron's lap."

Balls almost chokes. "Don't you fucking dare. I've only just got the image out of my head."

Andy pats his shoulder, ignoring the scandalised look Balls gives him. "It's not as if it'll end up on the Internet."

Balls glares at him. "I'd rather it had turned into some stupid PMQs argument. That was worse than-" He shakes his head, apparently temporarily speechless.

Andy looks at him for a long moment and coughs. "Do you-er-think-"

Something about the way Cameron and Miliband were stumbling together for a moment there, the way their eyes had darted away from one another, hands gripping tight, has stuck with him.

Andy shakes his head. What the hell is he thinking? "Forget it-"

But Balls is staring at him and while anyone else would listen when Andy told them to drop it, Ed Balls never does.

"Yeah" he says, with absolutely no attempt at tact and Andy shakes his head affectionately because it's so typically Ed Balls. "I know what you mean. It's fucking-" He shakes his head. "Sorry, kids around. _Frigging _bizarre."

He shakes his head and Andy takes a step closer so their elbows are brushing.

"Do you think-" He hesitates. "Last week-"

Ed's still smiling but his eyes are suddenly sharp.

"Well" he says, quietly. "It's over now, isn't it? Alan didn't want it."

Andy looks at him for a long moment, and Ed looks back, the question clear to each in the other's face.

"Well." Andy clears his throat. "Well."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Shut up, Burnham."

Andy's smile twitches again. Ed gives him an uncharacteristically affectionate look that could almost be described as _fond._

Andy can remember when the two of them first latched onto this stupid inside joke-the two of them had known each other through _His _and _How are yous?_ and it had been one day when Balls had appeared, over from the Treasury where he'd been based then, and Andy had been looking over documents when he'd spotted some stupid mistake he'd made and had promptly slammed his head into his hands. "Oh, for God's _sake-"_

Balls had glanced at him. "What?"

Andy had shaken his head. "I've-Christ, I've cocked this up-" He'd pointed at the figures, waiting for Balls to explode. (He might not have known Balls _well_, but he'd known_ of_ Balls and that had been enough to warn him of the man's reputation.)

But Balls had just sighed and bent over the papers. "Here, let me see-"

Andy had leaned his forehead on his hand. "God, I'm so stupid-"

That's when Balls had slapped his shoulder gently with one hand. "Shut up, Burnham."

Andy had stared at Balls, slightly disconcerted by the other man's smile.

"Seriously, Burnham. Calm the fuck down. Everyone fucks up the figures sometimes."

Andy had blinked. "That's one of the first times I've heard the words "Shut up, Burnham" in a positive context."

Balls had laughed and shoved Andy gently in the shoulder. "Shut up, Burnham" he'd said again, until an answering smile had crept to Andy's own mouth.

"Anyway-" Balls says now, staring at Miliband and Cameron. "You're not stupid. It's fucking-sorry, _freaking_ weird. Like watching a cat bark." Balls snorts. "Which, incidentally, is what my wife's shouting sounds like."

"Don't let Yvette hear you say that."

"Please. Like I'm scared of my wife."

Andy waves over Ed's shoulder and Ed spins around. "Oh God, did she hear?"

Andy bursts out laughing and Ed glowers at him. "Shut up, Burnham."

* * *

"All right, Flo, you'll be seeing Sam very soon." David gently peels his younger daughter's arms away from around Sam's neck. Florence beams at her would-be fiance.

Miliband ruffles his son's hair as David turns to him. "Well. Thank you so much for having us. It's been-"

"We've had such a lovely time" Samantha chips in, and Elwen and Florence beam. Nancy blinks up at her host. "Thanks, Mr Ed Miliband" she says and a small grin breaks out on Ed's face.

"And-" says Sam, brushing David's arm. "We've now got a film to cherish forever."

Everyone else bursts out laughing. David raises an eyebrow at Miliband, who says "If we can ever persuade Ed Balls to part with it."

"Well, we know what it's like persuading Balls to part with anything."

"Certainly difficult to guide him from economic security."

"And difficult to guide him _to _economic security-"

"Well, we learnt today you need your Chancellor's presence to guide you to victory-"

"I could have won."

"Is that what you'll be saying in May?"

"Ed-" Justine's already saying, but David can feel a smirk breaking out over his own mouth that somehow he knows is identical to the look on Miliband's face. And he holds onto this, grabs it because this is what he knows. This, the way things are meant to be between him and Miliband, takes his mind off-

It was nothing, but David's still thinking about it.

Miliband's grip was stronger than he expected. That had been the first thing. His hair was softer than David remembered. His shampoo was more familiar than it should have been. Having his hand in David's was more confusing than it should have been. (Because they weren't holding hands. Because holding hands is Not Something They Do.)

It was nothing and so David shrugs and says "Wouldn't want to steal your lines, Miliband" and Miliband rolls his eyes exactly the way David knew he would, and says "Cameron, that doesn't even make _th-sense",_ exactly the way David knew he'd say it.

Of course, knowing Miliband's lines is just knowing his opposition.

He grasps Miliband's hand and they shake firmly and he kisses Justine's cheek, hugs the boys. He stands up, and swallows as he meets Miliband's eyes. He reaches out and before he can stop himself, awkwardly-too awkwardly-pats Miliband's elbow. The shirt is a little too thin for November and he can feel the warmth of Miliband's skin through the material.

"Thank you for having us" and his voice is lower, his hand holding for a moment and then Miliband nods and says "Thank you for being here."

Then he smiles and says "Try to give us a better performanth-ce in May, Cameron-it won't be nearly as enjoyable beating you" and David's a little too thankful for the words.

* * *

Ed waits until Zia's put the boys to bed but before they're asleep to make the call.

Justine sighs when he's been sitting, staring at his phone for several minutes too long. "Putting it off only makes it worse" she tells him and Ed rolls his eyes.

Even with Justine's advice ringing in the back of his head, it still takes him a few minutes once she's sequestered herself in the dining room, closing the French doors between them, to dial the number.

He sits and waits while the phone rings and rings, the chimes in rhythm with the excuses already getting ready to spill like a conveyor belt. _He's busy, there's a time difference, they're probably out-_

_He's not answering, he's not answering, he's not answering-_

And then he hears the click and the voice is saying "Hello?" and it is, it's his brother's voice.

Ed swallows hard. "Hi. It's me." David knows it's him, will have watched the name on the screen for several moments before deciding whether or not to pick up. Ed knows it, the way he knows how Cameron's head shakes, that eyebrow arching, before he throws Ed's own words back at him. It's in his marrow, the way he knows them, and it's something he can never quite manage to rip out.

"I can hear." David could sound amused but he could sound any number of other things, too. It's always been something David's good at-keeping his voice a little out of reach, leaving Ed grasping for the meaning and wondering if he'll even like it when he finally catches up.

"Good. Um-" Ed wants to say something, anything, to keep him talking. He wants to say something, anything that will let him hang up.

"Thank you for the present. Sam's been wanting to play Monopoly."

"I'm glad he likes it." David could be surrounded by family right now or he could be completely alone, and the word _family _snaps in Ed's thoughts because David's family should be Ed's family. David would say it is but it never feels like it and Ed knows he can't even be angry.

"How was the day?" David asks and Ed hates how_ required_ the whole conversation sounds-the words they're forced to exchange with one another because they share the same genes. He hates that it has to feel like force.

"It was good" he says instead and then-" A little late, but-"

David laughs. (Ed's never heard a laugh sound emptier.) "Well, we phoned on the day-"

"That-that wasn't meant to sound like that."

"Like what?"

David's making him say it.

(David's always making him say things these days but never anything that needs to be said.)

"Like I was accusing you."

David laughs and Ed bites his lip. "Don't worry. I never think you're accusing me."

Ed hears the sting behind the _you're _and winces, all the more because he knows he's the only one who would have heard it. That's what it does, to have a brother.

"How are Jacob and Isaac?" he asks, because they both know he's going to let David get away with it. (He sometimes thinks he'll always be letting David get away with it.)

(But David's let _him_ get away with it and that's what they'll never stop reminding each other of.)

"They're fantastic." David's voice is a little warmer now. "We're about to head for Central Park, actually-"

"Can I speak to them?" Ed asks it on a whim, because it's his son's birthday party, because he hasn't spoken to them in two months, because they're his _nephews._

There's a stretched moment, a moment where Ed can almost feel his brother turning the words over and over. "No" he says and Ed feels his grip on the phone tighten.

"No? That's it?"

"Yes. I mean-we're about to head out, Ed-"

"I haven't spoken to them for two _months-"_

"That's not my fault." David is infuriatingly calm and Ed thinks, the way he always does, about hurling the phone across the room, throwing his brother's voice away from him.

But he holds onto it, the way he always does.

"We'll call in the next few days, let them speak to their cousins-"

Ed knows they won't. He knows he won't call them out on it.

"The boys are asleep." He surprises himself with the lie. "They knew I was calling you, though."

David is silent and Ed savours the flavour of the words, the sharp aftertaste-_They don't need you, either._

"Tell them I hope they had a good day" David says and Ed closes his eyes, the bitter tang of the words coating his tongue. "And Justine-give her my best wishes."

"The same to Louise." Ed opens his eyes and wants to probe at his brother's voice, find some crack in his words, something to show-"That's it?"

There's a careful, measured pause. Everything about David is careful, measured, calculated. The few things that aren't-

They're left grasping at someone who's left them behind.

"If you say so" David says quietly and Ed shake his head. "I didn't th-say th-so." The lisp rears into the conversation suddenly, violently.

David sighs. Ed can feel the raised eyebrow, the roll of the eyes. "Was there anything else?"

"Don't _you _have anything else?" Ed can feel his voice cracking, getting a little louder. He bites down hard on the anger, the anger that he's not allowed to hold, rising in his throat. "I haven't-we haven't spoken in two _monthth."_

There's a pause and then-"The boys are waiting."

Ed knows his brother can feel the words sinking in on the other end, the same way he could when his name was read out and David had hugged him and underneath the words was that sound-a sound on the frequency that only the two of them can hear, a whispered scream of something _wrong,_ something wrong hitting Ed in the chest over and over, so that he was breathing victory and defeat all at once.

He can feel it and so when David laughs softly and says "Are we meant to talk more often, then?" Ed can feel his brother pulling away.

"I didn't think you'd-" is what he starts to blurt out but that would require talking about this and that's one thing they never do.

"I'd what?" David's voice is maddeningly sure. Maddeningly calm. Maddeningly right.

Ed wants to dent it, to break it in two and he says, voice cracking, almost a whisper "Stop dragging them into it."

He feels the words hit home and hates it and loves it all at once. "What am I dragging them into?"

"You know what. Just-" Ed's lost the battle of staying calm. He sounds like he's winning but he and David both know, the way he always did, that he's already lost, before he even opens his mouth again.

(He could laugh at the irony.)

"I didn't think you'd drag them into this" he says and maybe it's this that's dragged them to where they are now. David's always been able to see Ed and it's always been because Ed showed himself too clearly.

David's voice is softer, like a kiss through the phone. "I know you didn't" he says and Ed swallows, chewing his lip at the gentleness of the words. He can feel the disbelief there between them and doesn't know if it's from David or him or both of them.

"I have to go" David says and then "Bye."

Ed doesn't say anything and David puts the phone down. Ed listens to the tone for a long time, hanging onto the remainder of their conversation.

When he goes up to check on the boys, thinking of perhaps telling them a story, they're both asleep. Ed stands at each of their doors for a few moments, waiting for their breathing to quicken, but if they're awake, they don't open their eyes.

He suddenly realises that it seems a while since he last told both his sons a story, and that throughout the day, their eyes have seemed to drift away a little too often.

He wishes that when it comes to the story he tells himself, he could find a way to believe that _story _isn't just another word for _lie._

* * *

_Playlist_

_Sun Shy-Dresses-"We don't need daylight to feel right, come close to me/And we'll stay up"_

_Perfect 10-The Beautiful South-"I love her body, especially the lies/Time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes/Promise me this, take me out tonight"_

_Shut up and Dance-Walk The Moon-this is the song that's playing in the game._

_Boys Don't Cry-The Cure-"So I try to laugh about it/Cover it all up with lies/I try to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes/'Cos boys don't cry"_

_Long Division-Death Cab for Cutie-"And the echoes that remained, Of old friends and lovers, Their features bleeding, Together in his brain/She said she never envisioned him the type of person/Capable of such deceit...And it was clear with every page that they were further away/From a solution that would play"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David had been at the G20 summit in Australia:https://bbc.in/39ng3Ql  
https://bit.ly/33Ubc89  
David voting wearing tails:https://bit.ly/2vG9Xg5  
The comment about Ed wearing tails is from this:http://dailym.ai/38xPp6R  
Ed M and Yvette did share a flat together in the '90s:http://dailym.ai/2Iv3rLF  
Ed's house is worth more than David's:https://bit.ly/2Iu69Bk  
Louise, David M's wife, dislikes Ed and Justine even more than David M does:http://dailym.ai/2TVbzKK  
https://bit.ly/2TU1b6b  
https://bit.ly/38Do9Ue  
https://bit.ly/2Q0wXNQ  
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8544232/David-Miliband-fails-to-attend-Ed-Milibands-wedding-party.html  
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/8217594/David-Miliband-escapes-Christmas-lunch-with-his-brother-Ed-Miliband.html  
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2002553/Brothers-arms-David-Ed-Miliband-Labours-Cain-Abel.html  
Their particular dislike towards Justine is because it was reportedly Justine's idea for Ed to run for the leadership against David M:http://dailym.ai/2xpo4qv  
As mentioned previously, Douglas was previously a close friend of Ed's, but Ed's decision to run against his brother caused their friendship to become strained: https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/silent-assassin-how-ed-miliband-plotted-against-his-brother-for-months-2298702.html  
The hug between David M and Ed M after the announcement of the leadership result: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Jobo0dgRNg  
https://bit.ly/2PXqqmH  
Andy and Ed B on a swing together: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1583789/Politicians-at-play-Ed-Balls-and-Andy-Burnham-go-swinging.html


	7. Pastings From Pop-Stars, Car-Roof Conversations And The Many Dangers Of Train-Ride Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which pop-stars are interrogative and train-journey confidences can be a strain on one's shoulders."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me what you like about it, or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask).  
The reference quotes in this refer to Ed and Marc's friendship, George's with David L, the Mark Reckless incident, and David's boarding school experiences. If you want to read any attached articles and can't, let me know and I'll make sure you can.:)  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_When I tell my children today about the schools I went to, and some of the things that happened in them, it all seems incredibly old-fashioned. For starters, going away to boarding school aged just seven now seems brutal and bizarre. Of course I was homesick at first. I remember having one of those plastic cubes with pictures of my family on that I would look at in bed at night with tears welling up in my eyes._

_Dad, as ever, was pretty phlegmatic, but Mum was torn, and later admitted that she only coped after waving me goodbye on the first day by taking a large dose of Valium. Dad would have approved-he was a famous self-medicator, and always had a squash bag full of various pills and potions. He even gave Samantha two Valium the night before our wedding, and advised her to **"Wash one down with a large gin and tonic-and if you don't pass out, have the other one tomorrow."** She happily followed his advice, and sailed serenely through the whole thing._

_To say that Heatherdown was antiquated would be underplaying it. At bath time we had to line up naked in front of a row of Victorian metal baths and wait for the headmaster, James Edwards, to blow a whistle before we got in. Another whistle would indicate that it was time to get out. In between, we would have to cope with clouds of smoke from the omnipresent foul-smelling pipe clenched between his teeth. The school was tiny-fewer than a hundred boys-and the gene pool of those attending was even smaller. One contemporary of mine recalls that his **"dorm captains"** (yes, we had those too) were the Duke of Bedford and Prince Edward._

_The food was spartan. I lost a stone in weight during a single term. There was one meal that consisted of curry, rice-and maggots. In the school grounds were woods and a lake where we could play unsupervised in green boilersuits-it is something of a miracle that no one drowned. Punishments were also old-fashioned. They included frequent beatings with the smooth side of an ebony clothes brush. If I shut my eyes I can see myself standing outside the headmaster's study, hearing the ticking of the grandfather's clock and the thwack of the clothes brush on the backside of the boy in front of me, and feeling the dread of what was to follow.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_Alex kept pushing. He kept pushing them both in his own way. Your older brother kisses a girl. So you have to kiss a girl. Your older brother starts getting good at football. So you have to get good at football. Your older brother can survive those long, lonely nights at Heatherdown with its paper-thin blankets and icicles clustering on the inside of the dormitory windows. Then you can survive it._

_In fact, you could do more than survive. You could grow. Flourish.-One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Miliband And Clegg: Three Men, One Ambition And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_In the end there were four of us children. And that was a big part of the happiness: the large, argumentative but loving family. My brother Alex, three years older than me; then an eighteen-month gap to my sister Tania; then another eighteen-month gap to me; and a five-year break before my sister Clare. We were always a tight-knit set of siblings, sharing in each other's triumphs and disasters, and we remain so today...Prince Edward was an exact contemporary of my brother, and I overlapped with both of them. Alex and Edward became friends, and Alex went to stay at Windsor Castle, even having breakfast once on the Queen's bed. I was madly jealous...It was far from all plain sailing (at Eton.) Trouble started brewing for me in my third year due to my growing sense of being slightly mediocre, a mild obsession about being trapped in my big brother's shadow, and a weakness for going with the crowd, even when the crowd was heading in the wrong direction.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_The brothers (Alex and David), who shared a room, always got on well, teasing one another and fighting playfully enough...The Cameron boys played their parts in school plays, although it was the older brother-as David was to admit subsequently-who showed the truer talent for the stage. At the age of eight, David played the part of Harold Rabbit in Toad Of Toad Hall, while Alex caught the eye with his performance of Ratty. Prince Edward played Mole. Chris Black, a former teacher at Heatherdown, said much later that **"although he was somewhat overshadowed by his brother, the young Cameron Minor's determination and ambition was already very much in evidence."**...When Cameron arrived at Faulkner's house (at Eton) in late 1979, he once again had the implicit protection of his brother Alex, three years above him. A friend describes the older Cameron as a **"glamorous, popular and arty" p**resence at the school, which would have gone some way towards smoothing the younger boy's path. In his first terms Cameron was "**precocious and naturally self-confident and clearly enjoyed having a popular and well-known brother in the school" s**ays a friend. Alex's presence would have offered a sense of belonging to the "**new bug."** This protection was not without its downside, though. David was intensely aware of the swathe his elder brother had cut through the school, something which might have cast a pall on a less self-assured sibling. Nonetheless the extent to which David and Alex might **"by being in the same house, tread on one another's toes",** as one family member puts it, was a slight concern. Cameron himself has said he worried that he might never escape his brother's shadow..-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott and James Hanning_

_His only real worry seems to have been competing with his big brother, which he saw as a significant challenge. He says he struggled to carve out his own identity and feared he was **"set on a track"** to live in Alex's shadow. **"Everything I did I felt he had already done"** he has said. **"You think that you are doing everything the same, only three years later...that was something I used to worry about quite a lot, that I was never going to break out of my brother's shadow."** Nowhere would he feel this more acutely than at school...As the younger sibling of an older pupil, the future Prime Minister was known as "Cameron Minor", shortened to **"Cameron Mi";** while his brother-remembered by teachers as the more extrovert and popular of the two-was known as **"Cameron Ma.".."His brother was an absolutely delightful child, outgoing, lovely sense of humour, and David was very like him, though perhaps a little quieter.".**..As a new boy (at Eton) Cameron's integration was significantly eased by the presence of his brother Alex, who had by then been at the school for three years and was extremely popular. This was a mixed blessing. At Heatherdown, where it was Alex who made the bigger impression, the future Prime Minister initially struggled to compete with his effortlessly charming and extrovert sibling who was, former pupils say, **"someone people adored immediately."****-**Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_ **Was there anything about your childhood that you had to overcome?** _

_Nothing, really. Although I wouldn't say that I had this completely gilded youth where I never had any problems or challenges. I suppose the biggest challenge for me was, as a younger brother, having the feeling that you're living in your brother's shadow. Are you a younger brother?_

_ **No, older, by five years.** _

_Have you ever asked him about this?_

_ **We've discussed it, yes.** _

_He (Alex) is three years older than me, so everything I did I felt he had already done, and you feel like you're set on a track and living in his shadow. They go to a school, you start going to school, they start playing football, you start playing football, they kiss girls, you start kissing girls-and you think that you are doing everything the same, only three years later, and I think that was something I used to worry about quite a lot, that I was never going to break out of my brother's shadow._

_ **Often when that happens, the younger sibling rebels, becomes something of a renegade, but that didn't happen to you. Far from it, in fact...** _

_Well, a bit actually. Going to Oxford made me feel like I had achieved something that he hadn't done, as he went to Bristol. As for rebellion, I mean, wanting to break the rules and misbehave and do things I shouldn't have done was partly to forge your own path, but I don't want to get into the things I did and didn't do. I wasn't a complete rebel, but I used to like to do things that I wanted to do. But that doesn't sound like a huge bunch of things to get over in your youth.-Cameron On Cameron: Conversations With Dylan Jones, Dylan Jones_

_On the first day of Michaelmas term, in October 1989, the younger Miliband bumped into Marc Stears in the college quad. **"We became friends straight away" **says Stears, a fellow PPE fresher and Labour Party supporter. **"He was very friendly and very serious at the same time; he was the same then as he is now. He could relax and talk to anyone."** Inside the small college, Ed soon became part of a small, tight-knit group of friends who he had met for the first time. **"There was a group of us who were on the left, who wanted to do politics from day one"** says Stears, who now teaches politics at University College, Oxford.** "So we'd get together, do academic stuff and political stuff."...**He and Stears joined the OULC in the first term of their first year and theirs was a remarkably rapid rise to the top. Stears was chair by the second term, and Ed by the third term. (Again, he was following, consciously or unconsciously, in David's footsteps: his elder brother had been active in the Labour Club, becoming secretary during his undergraduate days at Oxford.)...During the delivery (of his first leader's speech) too, Ed was confident, calm, himself. One of his oldest friends, Marc Stears, was at home in Oxford watching the speech on television. **"The amazing thing watching him was that he's exactly the same as he was when we were students. It's bizarre-the same mannerisms, the same demeanour. It took my breath away."...**Unlike Cameron, Ed does little "chillaxing"; he does enjoy the time that he spends with Justine and his two young boys, at home or in the park, but he also finds it difficult to switch off from politics. On his evenings and weekends, he continues to pore over newspaper columns and political blogs and, for several Sunday mornings in 2011, he organised a regular, off-the-record meeting of centre-left thinkers and writers-including the academic Marc Stears, the Guardian columnist John Harris, Compass's Neal Lawson and the former adviser to the late Robin Cook, David Clark-at his home in Dartmouth Park. **"There are two modes to Ed: there's a serious political engagement mode-work to be done, speeches to be written-and he's successful in that mode"** says Stears. **"Then there is this very impish, very relaxed, very creative and witty Ed, who's still thinking about politics, but is different from the Ed at work."**-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_Stewart Wood, the politics tutor from Oxford University, handled education, local government and European Union policy. Ed had met Wood nine years earlier, in 1995, when Ed went out to visit his old friend David Soskice in Germany. Soskice ran a research institute in Berlin, and Wood happened to be one of his PhD students. **“We clicked straight away and stayed in touch”** says Wood, who would later become one of Ed’s closest friends, confidantes and political advisers. Despite his academic background, Wood had long been keen to move from teaching political theory to his undergraduates to practicing politics in Westminster; he wanted a job in government as a special adviser. In 1996, he had co-founded Nexus, a network of academics, commentators and policy experts, which fed new policy ideas into the New Labour government after 1997. When James Purnell quit his job as the culture adviser in the Downing Street Policy Unit in 2000, in order to run for Parliament, Wood wrote to David Miliband and put his name forward for the vacancy. David didn’t think he was right for the role but later mentioned the application to Ed, who was then still living in a flat above David and Louise in Chalcot Square. Ed rang Wood: **“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to work in government? You should come and work for Gordon.”** Wood had two interviews with Brown who gave him the **“thumbs up.”** He secured a five-year break from his teaching post at Oxford University and started full-time as a member of the Council of Economic Advisers at the Treasury in June 2001, after the general election._

_Wood, says a former Treasury colleague, was **“very clever and quite self-deprecating; not cocky at all.”** He and Ed bonded not just over their view of the world, but also in their approach to dealing with people and building relationships and friendships across ideological and factional lines.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_George Osborne is a politician's politician. He is intrigued by politics and is one of those rare individuals who follows the subtleties not only of his own party but of others. He generally understood in 2010 and throughout the coalition what his coalition partners needed and wanted, and he was good at cutting to the bottom line and doing deals. As the parliament advanced, Nick Clegg's appreciation of George Osborne's skills grew, and the two Quad members often took to resolving matters between themselves directly-presenting their conclusions as a done deal to David Cameron. George Osborne is much more consistently liberal-with a small "l"-than David Cameron. While the Prime Minister would often judge a policy by its seaworthiness in the Daily Mail, the Chancellor was more inclined to return to liberal first principles, sometimes even seeking to out-liberal his coalition partners. In 2014 when Nick Clegg was arguing, alongside David Cameron, for tighter regulation of betting shops, the Chancellor responded: **"As a liberal, I'm not in favour of excessive regulation. And anyway, you may think that if you close a betting shop you will get something nice, like a muesli shop, but you won't. You'll probably just get an empty shop."..**.But if George Osborne is small-"l" liberal in many ways, he is no Liberal Democrat. On civil liberties, his instincts are broadly Conservative. On foreign policy, he is neo-Conservative. And while he wanted the coalition with the Liberal Democrats to succeed, his interest was in power for himself and his own party and not in some starry-eyed permanent pact. I never doubted that George was a fully paid-up political carnivore, and that ultimately he wanted our votes and our voters, not a coalition for its own sake. When he offered us the prospect of a **"coupon election",** it wasn't as an act of charity. And when it came to the general election, he visited the seats of Liberal Democrat ministers, including me, to seek to defeat us. Of course, I would have done the same to him, if I had thought we could win his seat._

_Finally, while George Osborne could come across on television and radio as sometimes distant and even sneering, in private he was self-deprecating, relaxed and amusing. In company with George Osborne you were always one sentence away from a rather good joke-usually at someone else's expense. But the Chancellor could often laugh at himself too-as he had to in June 2013, for example, when President Obama kept referring to him as "Geoffrey" at a major international summit in Wales.The Prime Minister and his Deputy teased "Geoffrey" about this for some weeks afterwards.-Coalition: The Inside Story Of The Conservative-Liberal Democrat Coalition Government 2010-2015, David Laws_

_On Saturday 27 September, as Cameron's team are travelling up to the conference in Birmingham, they receive news that Conservative MP Mark Reckless is another defector...Craig Oliver is on the train when he hears the news. As he tries to speak to the team from the carriage, his phone keeps cutting out. They all worry that the second defection will knock the entire conference off course and encourage further defections. Cameron is much more affected personally by Reckless's resignation than that of (Douglas) Carswell: he thinks Reckless is not only illogical but purely self-interested, and is both destructive and malevolent. **"He despises people who behave like that"** says an aide. Anger mounts when they learn that a week before he knew he would be defecting, Reckless had allegedly sanctioned the printing of leaflets by his Conservative constituency association, at high cost for the local party. As soon as Cameron's team arrive in Birmingham on Saturday evening, they meet in the PM's hotel suite: **"I'd always regarded it up till now as the lucky room as it was the place we gathered for the third TV debate in 2010, which he won" **says Kate Fall. Luck is conspicuously absent from the room that night. **"We'd had a big debate the previous week about whether the PM's speech should announce lots of good news then or spread it out over the autumn."** The Reckless story inclines him to want to seek maximum impact from his own speech-**"to put the explosives on the door"**, as he himself says. They spend a lot of time that evening planning what Cameron will say to Andrew Marr in his interview the next morning. They simply do not know whether more resignations will follow on Sunday, Monday or on Wednesday, the day the PM speaks...**"Both Carswell and Reckless lied to our faces that they weren't going to defect"** says one. They decide that Cameron will downplay it as far as he can, so on Sunday morning he tells Marr that **"these things are frustrating and frankly are counterproductive and rather senseless."** Heavy-duty rubbishing is left to Grant Shapps, who in his opening speech tells delegates at Birmingham: **"we have been betrayed...We have been let down by somebody who has repeatedly lied to his constituents and to you-who said one thing and did another...He lied and lied and lied again."** Cameron's team are far more contemptuous of Reckless than Carswell, regarding him as **"a little shit."** Just days before, he had had lunch with Michael Gove, and had sworn he was not going to defect.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_The Reckless by-election in Rochester and Strood is held on 20 November._ _When he defected on the eve of the Conservative conference, there was a hope within the party that they could hold the seat. CCHQ again direct massive resources into the contest.**"We threw everything at it to try to win and this made for a very intense and hard-fought campaign"** says Feldman. Cameron himself goes to the Kentish constituency five times, with the final visit taking place on 18 November, two days before polling. UKIP recruit many new activists over the summer and they too put everything into the contest, which they end up winning with 42.1% of the vote and a majority of just under 3,000. It is a damaging blow for the Conservatives, although there is relief that the UKIP vote is not higher.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_This Saturday is no different. I was feeling quite sorted (relatively speaking.) I had packed, seen the children off. Then my phone bleeps with a news alert: Mark Reckless has defected. Ed rings as I jump into a cab to Euston. **Shit. This is bad.** And worse than Reckless going is the threat of still more to come. We are contemplating a conference week with a stream of defections, the stability of the party gathering completely undermined. Our credibility on the eve of an election conference-blown apart. We find Craig on the train, phone to ear. **"Reckless!" **we mouth at him, trying to get him to end his call. We need to have a discussion immediately, probably somewhere between the carriages, out of earshot of the numerous journalists and activists on the train. But Craig is preoccupied with another story. **"Dick pics!"** he mouths._

_**"What did he say?"** I ask, looking incredulously at Ed. We leave Craig to sort out the press frenzy around Brooks Newmark's leaked pictures. Brooks had waited years to be a minister, and then, just two months after his appointment, this. Ed and I spend the rest of the journey on our phones. Up in Birmingham, we all gather in David's hotel suite in the Hyatt. Michael Gove, Gavin (Williamson), George, Ed and I focus on managing the parliamentary party. We make lists of MPs we think could be UKIP material and then allocate the calls out amongst us. These are not easy conversations to have. **"Er, hello-were you thinking of jumping ship?"** And will they even tell us the truth? Some are understanding when we ask. Some are furious. You can't blame them. With this counter-operation in place, we manage to navigate our way through the week with no more defections. This is helped by the backlash from the party, who unite in their condemnation against such disloyalty. I breathe a sigh of relief to be back in London. I collapse at home just in time to see the semi-final of The Great British Bake Off with my children, finding the Victoria sponge to have an oddly soothing effect. But although a party meltdown has been averted, we are not out of trouble, with two by-elections to fight against UKIP in the next weeks. These will require a huge amount of resources at a time when we should be gearing up for a general election. October brings a resounding victory for Carswell in Clacton; November, a lesser though decisive victory for Reckless in Rochester. The party is shaken. We now have two UKIP MPs in Parliament, a year and a half **after** we committed ourselves to an in/out referendum.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No.10, Kate Fall_

_But on Saturday comes the deliberately timed defection of Mark Reckless to UKIP. Cameron is mortified and incandescent. Late that night, when Andrew Feldman has a drink with him in his room, he is still fuming. His old university friend keeps trying to bolster his spirits, telling him how they have more members at conference than anyone can remember and that everyone is in remarkably good spirits. He has only limited success. Cameron's anger mirrors that of his team: **"the fucker has come along and blows everything"**_ _ is their collective thought that Saturday. But Feldman's optimism proves well-placed. By Monday the team begin reporting that **"the journos seem pissed off that Reckless hasn't put us on our knees. They keep asking why we are not at all depressed by it. They assume we have something up our sleeve."**_ _-Cameron At Ten: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon,_

_On the Saturday before party conference (2014) I was enjoying a rare day in Dean before heading up to Birmingham that evening. We went for a family bike ride, the five of us gliding along the tree-hooded roads of west Oxfordshire, followed by a nice lunch at home. I was getting ready for a reinvigorating post-referendum, pre-conference nap when my phone rang. Two messages in the space of the next ten minutes put paid to any hopes of an afternoon's rest or a freewheeling conference._

_I sat at the kitchen table and explained the double mess to Samantha. **"There's this one guy, he's called Mark Reckless"** I said. "**He's a Conservative MP-well, he was a Conservative MP. Because now he's resigned and wants to be a UKIP Mp. There will have to be a by-election, as there will be for Carswell. And we'll have to beat this one. Not least because he's an absolute idiot. Then there's this second guy. This one's a minister, Brooks Newmark. Really good man. Well, he was. I mean, he's married, he has five kids, and the Mirror has just caught him sending pictures of himself in paisley pyjamas-"sexting"-to a girl on social media who doesn't exist. Who is actually a male reporter."**_

_Sam took in these two very different types of betrayal. She has a habit when being told about any sexual indiscretion by a man to broaden her remarks to include the entire male gender. **"What is it with you men?"** she exploded. **"This time, darling, never mind men"** I said. **"What's happening to my sodding conference?"..**.I saved my real disgust for Reckless. I knew he was anti-EU, but at a lunch he had assured Michael Gove that he had no plans to defect. The night before he resigned, he even left a message on Grant Shapps's voicemail about coming campaigning. In the end, it was not a nap but treachery that reinvigorated me. Reckless wasn't going to wreck my conference. In fact, I was going to turn this into a positive. _

_That night at the conference hotel I watched the 10 o'clock news with the team. Everyone erupted into laughter when Reckless appeared. But I knew that to the grassroots, this man wasn't so funny. I myself had taken over from a defector in Witney, Shaun Woodward. I knew how grassroots Tories would be feeling. I started with the National Convention, an annual gathering of all the association chairmen from across the country. I rallied them with my speech: "**You are the people who stuff the envelopes, walk the streets, bang on the doors...and for all this time, you got a man who sits on the green benches, and **_ ** _this_ _ is how he has treated you."_**

_As I went from area reception to area reception, from the south-west to the north-east, I did the same thing. At each one, the Reckless section of my speech got longer, more animated, more enraged. The crowds loved it, and by the end of the three days the diatribe culminated in the call to arms: **"LET'S GO OUT THERE AND KICK HIS FAT ARSE OUT OF PARLIAMENT."****-**For The Record, David Cameron_

_But come mid-October (2014), the sleepless nights had returned. Carswell had won his by-election in Clacton by a huge majority, and become UKIP's first ever elected MP. Then in November Reckless won again in Rochester. UKIP was looking worryingly like part of the furniture...I thought I should try and close my eyes that Friday morning (in May 2015) to fortify myself for what was ahead. Results were still rolling in so I switched on the radio by my beside. As I drifted off, I listened, stunned, as the shadow chancellor, my Commons tormentor Ed Balls, lost his Yorkshire seat. Then I woke to hear that Nigel Farage had failed in South Thanet. And-joy of joys-we **had** kicked Mark Reckless out of Parliament.-For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

_All your acting, your thin disguise_

_All your perfectly delivered lines_

_They don't fool me_

_You've been lonely too long-Dust To Dust, The Civil Wars._

_Maybe all of us...had little secrets like that-little private nooks created out of thin air, where we could go without fears and longing.-Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro._

_It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person looked when he smiled-The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett._

_""I'm just saying: Maybe scrambled eggs are ghettoized, but they're also special. They have a place and a time, like church does."_

_"You couldn't be more wrong" I said. "You are buying into the cross-stitched sentiments of your parents' throw pillows. You're arguing that the fragile, rare thing is beautiful simply because it is fragile and rare. But that's a lie, and you know it."_

_"You're a hard person to comfort" Augustus said._

_"Easy comfort isn't comforting" I said. "You were a rare and fragile flower once. You remember."_

_For a moment, he said nothing. "You do know how to shut me up, Hazel Grace."_

_"It's my privilege and my responsibility" I answered."_ _-The Fault In Our Stars, John Green_

* * *

David shakes his head, staring at the screen. Sam rolls her eyes. "You know, if we count up the amount of these programmes I've sat through in the course of our marriage-"

"It's important to know what the Opposition's saying-"

Sam bursts out laughing. _"The Opposition? _You were on his _lap_ the other night-"

David rolls his eyes. "I was not _on his lap_-it's _starting_, shh-"

He can still see Sam's smirk out of the corner of his eyes as he stares at Miliband. It genuinely isn't just because of Miliband that he's watching the show-it's on Lynton and George's advice.

And one of those people is currently snickering on his other side, while David ponders the best way to surreptitiously kick him.

"So, Sam-" George gives David an innocent look and David seriously contemplates hitting him. "Dave was actually on Miliband's _lap-"_

"Once again, I _was not on-"_

"I can't believe I wasn't there." George glares at David. "If I want to see that video, I'll have to speak to Balls. Balls. There is _no worse fate_, David."

"Oh, shut up, you love speaking to Balls."

George frowns. "That sounds wrong. Then again, not as wrong as you sitting on Miliband's lap-"

"I'll visit _a worse fate_ on you if you don't shut up."

"What a snappy little retort." George's smile is positively infuriating. "Pick that up from Miliband?"

Sam reaches across to grab David's arm, perhaps through fear he might completely lose control and hit George over the head with the plate of crackers.

"Anyway, let's see Miliband try to flirt his way through an interview with Myleene Klass-"

David tilts his head. "You do know he's married?"

George blinks. "Did Myleene have a sex change when I wasn't looking-"

David glares. "Not _Myleene,_ you-" He shakes his head and tries to picture Miliband flirting with anyone. He frowns and tries harder to picture Miliband flirting with anyone.

For some reason, the image isn't so much amusing as unusual (though it's not as if David_ often_ pictures Miliband flirting with anyone) and even though David has no idea how Miliband started flirting with his wife, something about the picture just doesn't sit right.

Myleene Klass is beaming at the camera now and David glances at George, who's suddenly extremely interested in the screen. David smirks and George snaps out of his Klass-induced trance to glare at him. "I'm very interested in Miliband's performance."

David snorts but by this time, Miliband's speaking.

"Excellent." George sits back triumphantly, reaches for the bowl. "Popcorn, Dave?"

David feels the blood rise in his neck, as he remembers the last time he shared popcorn with anyone.

Miliband's got the earnest face on, that's what David decides. It's a face David's seen all too often when Miliband's trying to make a point, as if all he has to do is show just how sincere he is and surely everyone will come round to his point of view-

There's a part of David -a very small part-that almost finds the whole thing endearing. The rest of him finds it intensely_ irritating _but then that's only because of Miliband's persistence in such a useless technique. (Except when it's David he's debating, of course-then he's perfectly happy for Miliband to use it.)

Miliband isn't looking at Myleene Klass like he's considering flirting with her. He looks more like he's attempting to seem polite.

David then realises he's barely paid any attention to what anyone's saying because he's too busy examining the expression on Miliband's face. He immediately sits up straight and clears his throat, earning himself a few confused looks from George and Sam.

He tunes back in to hear Myleene Klass saying something about "little grannies" and David knows it's going down for Miliband from there.

George bursts out laughing. "I cannot-I can't believe we just saw Miliband get defeated by a pop star. Well, I _can_ believe it-"

David shakes his head, shushes him and leans forward. He catches a little roll of the eyes from Miliband and has to bite back a smirk. Maybe there's hope.

The fact is, he agrees with Myleene-that's a sentence he never thought he'd say-but that somehow doesn't lessen the pang in his chest as he watches Miliband start to defend himself against three people who clearly couldn't agree with him less.

Something about the name "Ed" in Myleene's voice makes David frown. He can't remember the last time he called Miliband "Ed." In fact, now, he finds himself wondering why they so rarely use each other's first names.

Then David realises that he's getting what might be perceived as possessive over how often he uses Miliband's name and he shakes his head violently. George glances at him, and then at his uneaten cracker. "Dave, have you suddenly discovered you're allergic to cheese?"

David glares at him. On-screen, he listens to Christopher tell Miliband how he's on a pension while everyone pretends to laugh. David frowns.(And these are people he agrees with.) But there's something rather unfair about it, even David can see, about three people, whom everyone can see have probably been chosen solely because they disagree with Miliband, being put against one.

Miliband looks the man in the eyes. "I think you _should_ pay more, Christopher" he says and Sam winces while George collapses again in laughter. "We might be able to phone Lynton and tell him to retire this campaign. Just let Miliband speak, and he wins it for us-"

David swallows. He agrees with Christopher-he _loathes_ the idea of a mansion tax, it just discourages people from aspiring to be successful, for God's sake-

It's not_ that_-not the words said. It's the way Miliband stares wide-eyed at Christopher as he says them. Miliband said it even though he must have known he was about to be crucified for it, because-

Something in David's chest tightens but not painfully. He knows why-it's the same reason Miliband throws at him almost every week. It might be inaccurate, ill-thought-out, but it's still a reason. Ed's convinced himself it's the right thing to do.

David knows Miliband wants to be able to do the right thing-he's treated to entire _lectures_ on that very subject almost every day-but something about the simplicity of the statement-no attempt to cloud the words, edge them with some kind of double meaning-makes David swallow and it's like a shove in the chest-

Even when all three of them are against him, Miliband doesn't shut up. David feels an unwilling smile spread across his face. The fact is, David's well aware that he himself knows how to polish and twist his words into something more acceptable, something that's still the truth but that can win people over-

Maybe that's the more effective approach but something about Miliband stubbornly struggling to sound sincere is rather-

When Miliband begins gesticulating, explaining his view, even to three people who've clearly already made up their minds, David shakes his head.

George snorts. "I know. He's rubbish."

Miliband is jabbing his finger at one point and David finds himself noticing how long Miliband's fingers are. Then again, he supposes he could have noticed before when he's seen them shaken or waved as Miliband tries to make a point-or when they were wrapped around his own-

He feels the flush rise to his cheeks and quickly drops his eyes, praying to any God there is that George doesn't notice. That's the last thing his friend needs, another reason to start acting as though David and Miliband are practically sodding _engaged-_

"You've got to respect him arguing his point." David is vaguely horrified to realise the words are coming out of his own mouth. "I mean-he might be wrong, but he's making an effort-"

"Oh, I forgot, you and Miliband are _friends_ now-"

Sam's laughing and David rolls his eyes.

"The John Major line was good-" George offers and David nods. Miliband smiles on-screen and David can't help an answering smile leaping to his own, something about the sheer-_guilelessness_ of the expression utterly disarming him. He tries to hold back the smile when Miliband's appears again and he ducks his own head for a moment, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.

He takes a deep breath, forces the grin away, and looks up to see Miliband a little more stubborn now, mouth moving into something rather closely resembling a pout and David finds himself biting his lip at the sudden heat in his cheeks-he's so used to being the one having this thrown at him that he feels a small stab of something almost a little petty at the sight of someone else arguing with Miliband, a little disquieting.

David shakes his head at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought and watches Miliband's frown as he listens to the rebuttals. He feels a pang of something and smirks when Miliband fires off a remark about lawsuits.

George notices the smirk and David tenses, waiting for the taunt, but George, uncharacteristically, stays silent, rewinding several times to watch a few lines again. (It might be to do with the fact that Myleene's talking. Myleene talking and insulting Miliband-two of George's favourite things.)

When Myleene says the word "sexy" it's George who bursts out laughing. David's about to ask if George is really still that much of a schoolboy, when his friend shakes his head, clearly anticipating the question.

"Trust me" he says, still laughing. "I would never usually associate "sexy" with _Miliband."_

David has to admit that neither has he. He looks back at the screen and then tilts his head.

It's not that he's trying to think about it. It's more that the word is just-making him think. He wonders if Miliband could ever be described as-well, not _that_, but-

He studies Miliband assiduously, trying to see him objectively. The way someone who didn't-_know _him would see him.

He tries-he supposes Miliband could look rather striking when he has a genuine smile, with that little grin-maybe the way his eyes widen when he laughs-the way his eyebrows knot when he's about to make a point-which can be downright_ irritating_, too-

David shakes his head. It's no use. He can't look at Miliband without seeing all his-_Milibandyness._ He's too used to it-Miliband wouldn't be Miliband without the annoying parts.

He then realises he's spent the last few minutes trying to decide whether or not he could consider Ed Miliband attractive and he wonders how much it would actually hurt to kick oneself.

But when Miliband insists that he loves his job, David has to admit that, all unnerving thoughts aside, it's much more impressive than he would have expected. David would be the first to say that he's been trusted with the best job in the world but he can't deny that there are times when he gets home and wonders if one day he's going to look back at whatever decision he's made that day and realise how badly he's got it wrong.

But of course, Miliband wouldn't question loving his job-if it involved a chance to be a martyr for the poor, Miliband would probably_ sleep_ at his job. But there's something about the way that Miliband says it that makes David's lips twitch and he finds himself watching Miliband, feeling a little confused. Something about the sheer-_belief _of the answer is confusing him.

Something about_ Miliband _confuses him.

It isn't until the show ends, after multiple rewinds, and David realises that he's been staring numbly at Miliband's red tie for a few moments that he snaps out of it, glancing quickly at George and Sam to see if they've noticed.

George is stretching. "Well, that was a waste of time" he remarks. "He didn't give us anything apart from some new lines at PMQs. Though Lynton might be glad to hear the opposition to the mansion tax-"

David nods quickly. "Mm" he says, getting up before Sam can offer to. "Feel like a cup of tea, George?"

George nods and thanks him and David turns and heads for the kitchen.

He listens to the kettle boil and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His fists clench, white-knuckled, on the worktop as he tries not to think of the fact that somehow he's fallen into thinking of Miliband as-well-_Miliband_, and not his political rival.

It's going to be difficult enough facing Nick in a few months-Nick, who's been more of a friend than David would ever have expected back in 2010. But now, with Miliband, it's just as-if not more-complicated.

At least, with Nick, it's been assumed it will be complicated-given what Lynton's hinted. With Miliband, it should be easiest of all and it may be the most complex part-

David's not stupid. He's not naive enough to think he can just send Miliband back to being a rival. Miliband's never _just_ been his rival, even before all-_this_ began.

Speaking of which, he sighs, pulls out his phone. He's got a few messages but he scrolls straight to Miliband's name. He should send a message. That seems the agreeable sort of thing to do with one's-colleague? Acquaintance?

_Friend?_

David sighs. Whatever Miliband is, he should still talk to him.

_Enjoy the Hear'Say interrogation? Thought you held up better than expected._

"Hi-" George has appeared behind him, handing him the mugs. "Flo had a nightmare, Sam's going to check on her. Did you get Nick's message? He's practically throwing a party-"

David wonders-rather bleakly-why. In a few months, there's a chance-and it's not a chance David likes to think about-that Nick could, conceivably, end up working with Miliband. The thought shouldn't make David clench his fist suddenly around the teapot but it does.

George claps him on the shoulder and David feels a sudden rush of affection for him-George didn't have to give up his evening to offer moral support but he did. Maybe it's some of Miliband's wide-eyed stare rubbing off on him, but he finds himself turning and pulling George suddenly into a slightly awkward hug.

He feels George tense in surprise but then slowly his arms move around David's shoulders and he returns the hug, laughing a little as he does so. He pats David's back and says "We could do a photoshoot for Compassionate Conservatism like this."

David laughs, making a mental note to hug George more often-one of the strangest mental notes he's ever made-and then he hugs him a little tighter. David knows the stereotype of boarding-schoolboys-in fact, he's probably fallen into it on more than a few occasions-but he's suddenly remembering that whatever happens in the next few months, he'll still have George, and sometimes, he wonders what he ever did to deserve George as a friend.

When they pull back, George's cheeks are a little flushed, but he smiles a little shyly at David and David feels himself return the smile

George grins. "Does watching Miliband always make you that affectionate-"

David tries to glare at him. "Shut up, Osborne."

They smile at each other and David has to admit that maybe Miliband's lack of pretence has some perks, after all.

* * *

** _Thank you, Cameron. Not for the insult._ **

_Consider that thrown in for fun. Like your version of the Welfare State._

** _I do wait for the day when your insults will make sense, Cameron._ **

_Like Klass's did tonight?_

** _I might have known where your attention would be, Cameron._ **

_Is this a case of protesting too much, Miliband?_

** _That's ridiculous._ **

_And I thought you had a soft spot for Desperate Housewives._

** _Shut up, Cameron._ **

_I could mention what Balls told George about walking into your office and how quickly you slammed your laptop shut._

** _Shut up._ **

_He heard the credits, Miliband._

** _That was for research purposes._ **

_Make that argument as convincing as your ones at PMQs._

** _So, more convincing than yours'?_ **

_I am trying to provide you with a compliment. You don't get many._

** _Thanks, Cameron._ **

_That didn't sound as good as it did in my head._

** _Does anything?_ **

_Hilarious._

** _But thank you._ **

_You did rather well. Considering nobody agreed with you._

** _I know you need to be sure of the pre-arranged support whenever you're planning to open your mouth but I believe standing up for one's principles is a vital part of politics._ **

_Sorry, didn't read that. Got bored waiting for you to finish the message._

** _Politics, Cameron. There was one word left._ **

_Under the amount you'd sell off, the English language would end up with one word left._

** _How exactly do your compliments always turn into insults?_ **

_It's a talent._

** _That's one word for it. Even if partly accurate._ **

_Shocking, did the Leader of the Opposition just pay me a compliment?_

** _If it's your definition of a compliment, perhaps._ **

_Now, you're the one not making sense. Though I'm quite used to it._

** _The feeling's more than mututal._ **

_So we have mutual feelings on a subject?_

** _It's not quite unbelievable, Cameron._ **

_Perhaps you should have said that on the show. It might have distracted from the fact that everyone hates the mansion tax._

** _Not everyone. Re-read the first part of your message._ **

_I just did. And yes, I heard it._

** _Read it._ **

_I thought that was a command at first. Then I realised you are the type of person who would command other people on grammar in text messages._

** _At least I didn't say we had mutual feelings._ **

_I didn't say they were positive._

** _That would be impossible for you._ **

_Really? I thought you did rather well tonight._

** _Well, thank you._ **

_You're welcome. I don't expect the favour to be returned._

** _I admire your willingness to give a compliment._ **

_Really? That's it?_

** _You are not entirely unamusing with your insults._ **

_That was made with good grace, Miliband. But thank you._

** _No problem. Personal is not an issue for some people._ **

_Fine, here's another: I liked your tie._

** _Honestly, Cameron?_ **

_It was improvised. And true._

** _Thank you. I mean, you've seen it plenty of times before, but it's the thought that counts._ **

_Take a compliment, Miliband._

** _Thank you._ **

_You're welcome. And well done. I disagreed with you on almost everything but well done._

** _Thanks. Nicely patronizing, but thanks._ **

_Night, Miliband._

** _Night, Cameron._ **

* * *

The next day, watching Miliband gesticulate wildly across the despatch box, David isn't feeling quite as well disposed towards the Leader of the Opposition.

Amusement, however, he's feeling in droves.

_"Nothing_ _better illustrates-"_ Miliband's nodding a little with each word like that emphasizes his point a little further. In actual fact, it makes him look a little like the Jack-In-The-Box David vaguely remembers playing with as a child, that he found some kind of joy in grabbing at and tugging again and again, bending the spring, until eventually the toy bounced too strongly and he pulled too hard and ended up tearing the poor thing's head off.

"The contrast of values between this side of the House-" Miliband's finger stabs the paper hard and David can't help but laugh. "And that side of the House-"

He's no doubt Miliband means it to look intimidating but in fact, it rather strongly reminds him of a child stamping his feet.

And then, looking down, Miliband says "Now, let's talk about the mansion tax" and George bursts out laughing a few seats down from David, with a grin at the paper of pre-prepared remarks they've got ready, some of which George insisted on scribbling down even before he left the night before.

"Recently-" Miliband's voice is drowned out by the tide of voices David can already hear swelling around him, including George and Nick's-George's voice is ragged with laughter and David can hear half the Tories in the same state.

Miliband just arches an eyebrow and then lifts his head and David almost wishes he could leap across the chamber and stop him, before he launches into what's doubtless going to make the situation even worse for him-

"Yeah-" Miliband beckons with one finger and further down the bench, George almost falls out of his seat, laughing so hard that David's almost concerned for his safety. Even Theresa's smirking next to him and David honestly winces for Miliband, if he's got _Theresa_ laughing at him.

"Yeah-yeah-" Miliband's either unaware that he's the cause of their mirth or just chooses to ignore it. Watching him, David feels a pang of something far too close to sympathy for an arena like this, and he immediately concentrates on the laughter of those around him, and the grin William shoots him from further down the bench.

"Recently -" Miliband's gesturing again, and it just serves to make the picture more comedic. "A penthouse in Hyde Park sold for a hundred and forty million pounds-" David has to bite his lip as he pictures Miliband scanning the Sold web page of an estate agency that morning.

"Is he really saying-" Miliband's widening his eyes, that finger going wild again-David's tempted to ask if Miliband's got an electric wire attached to that digit that's sending it into the air every few seconds. "That someone in that house-should say that-pay that-in that penthouse-" The words jumble together and Theresa's shoulders shake next to David as she stares at Miliband with a look that's almost pitying.

"Should pay the same amount of annual property tax as someone in a house worth a fraction of that value?" Miliband sinks back down, fixing David with the typical wide-eyed stare as he fiddles with his papers and David gets up, reaching for the answer easily in the long list of rehearsed, pre-prepared solutions that his thoughts are always echoing with at these sessions.

"We have made sure that the richest in our country have made a contribution by putting up stamp duty-" He makes sure to swivel his head to fix his gaze on Miliband as the cheers swell behind him. He holds back a smile, the answers coming easily now, one after the other, waiting to be grabbed from the air. "We've put up stamp duty, we've put up stamp duty on empty properties, we're charging foreigners property that come and invest in our country-but the _point _about this-" He makes sure to stab his hand downwards, George's words suddenly loud in his head, Craig nodding an hour earlier-_Make sure we put the focus on this, on everything we've done-don't let him distract from it, the way he's going to try to, make sure we redirect the attention-_

"Is what we _need _is a _growing economy-"_ _Emphasise the words, they'll be important soon enough_-"That's providing the _jobs_, the _livelihoods,_ for _our people-"_ A cheer rises suddenly behind him and that pulls the smile to his mouth, lets him stand up a little straighter and with a little more glee than necessary sink his teeth into one of the first lines that George suggested last night, that Craig had guffawed at earlier, slapping both of them a stinging high-five.

_"That's_ what we're getting-" He makes sure to look away from Miliband (_Look unruffled,_ Lynton had told him. _Always look as if he's not quite worth it, if you know what I mean.)_

"Whereas what _he's_ had in the last week-" He feels the smile rise to his own mouth, the laughter swelling in his throat easily, as he flicks his hand lazily in the direction of Miliband. "Is a _pasting _from a _pop star."_

The laughter rings out around him, hands clapping and David can't help but laugh himself even as the Speaker calls Miliband and he waits, sinking back next to Theresa, as George leans forward, laughing loudly himself. David waits, already anticipating with a strange little thrill of delight what Miliband's comeback line is going to be_. He hasn't answered the question? Typical of the boy from the Bullingdon Club? No more than I'd expect from the party of privilege?_

"Mr. Speaker-" Miliband leans forward and David finds himself grinning, meeting Miliband's eyes, who stares back, with a look that almost seems as though it's striving to seem disappointed. "That is _exactly what I'd expect_ from this Prime Minister-"

And David almost falls forward laughing, because why, why does Miliband have to make it so bloody _easy_, every single time-he must have worked out that the wounded moral champion act doesn't work by now, he_ must_ see how low his polls are, he must _know_-how can he not see, Miliband's not stupid, does he just _delude_ himself-David's laughing so hard it aches, Theresa's shoulders jolting his own in her mirth and he actually covers his eyes for a moment because it's almost embarrassing to watch Miliband standing there in all his-all his painful_ sincerity_ or what he clearly _hopes_ is sincerity and it's so hilariously awkward that David can't even look at him.

The thing is, Miliband might be smart and he might occasionally have a good point, but on the rare occasions he does-and they_ are_ quite rare-he goes and ruins it by-

Well.

It sounds cruel but the election's going to be cruel and in this environment it's easier for David to remember he's got to get used to it.

Miliband manages to ruin it-royally cock it up for himself-by-well-

Being _him._

It's cruel but it's true.

It's cruel but it's true and that's what David keeps in his mind as he gets up to answer the next question, as he lets the words "Well, we're certainly not seeing a class act opposite, I have to say-" drawl lazily out, catch the cheers and ride higher on the laughter from the benches behind him and he holds onto Lynton's words in his head-_be brutal with him, brutality is what works, he crumples, and that's what's going to let us win_-"I mean, this is-in the last week-" and he enjoys the thrill of carrying off fluffing his words, enjoys the way he can carry himself through a mistake because he can do it. He can do and somehow-somehow, Miliband just can't.

The spike of confidence that gives him and Lynton's voice in his head propel him through the next words, his eyes never once straying near Miliband. "In the last week, Mr. Speaker, he's been called _useless,_ _hopeless,_ _out of his depth,_ _doesn't cut it, _and _an absolute disaster-"_ He indicates the front bench with a quick sweep of the finger, without letting his eyes settle on them. "And that's just what the _front bench_ think."

The gales of laughter that erupt at that carry him through the next couple of questions, carry him through as Miliband trips over his words, almost shouting back at some of the Cabinet now, which leaves Theresa wincing for him, and when Miliband almost shouts his last words-_"He couldn't care less"-_they make it easier for him to lean forward and say the words that he'd held back until now, the results and polls that he and Craig and Clare and Kate and Oliver had sharpened into retorts and lines and jabs to break through Miliband's armour.

"Well, I think, Mr.Speaker, it's fair to say his week hasn't got any better-" He lets them laugh, lets them drown out the start of his next sentence so that he has to begin again-but that's good, they're laughing with him and at Miliband, which is the way he needs to keep it. "This is the week that Myleene Klass wh-wiped the floor with him in a television programme-" He almost trips over the words but he's fine, the laughter lifting the words higher, as he turns around to stare at the benches behind him.

"And this was the week when there was an opinion poll in Scotland-" He can feel his voice sharpening, the laughter welling in the words as he hurls this across the floor, the jibe he'd saved for last. "That showed that more people believe in the Loch Ness_ Monster_ than believe in _his leadership."_

The laughter is rioting around him and even as he looks around at the benches behind him, he swivels round to get one glimpse of Miliband, some whim pushing him. Miliband's watching him, head tilted to the side. As David watches, Miliband's pressing his lips together, as though sewing something back in, and David can't tell if it's laughter or something else altogether.

He can't tell and maybe that's what makes his laugh louder, sharpens his last jibe, makes him lean on the despatch box to throw it across the chamber. "The problem for the Labour Party is-he _does _actually exist!"

The laughter explodes around him and he sinks down into the applause, George half out of his seat, eyes alive with mischief and David can almost feel Lynton's approval even now. His heart's pounding and his mouth's aching with the triumph of it and he doesn't look at Miliband once.

* * *

A part of him wonders vaguely, nervously, if Miliband won't be waiting for him when he gets out of the PMQs after briefing, Lynton's praise ringing in his ears ("More of that. More of that and we'll fucking destroy them come election time") and David doesn't like to look at the fact that if it had been the other way round, he doesn't know for sure whether he would have turned up or not.

But when he walks out of the office, there Miliband is, waiting. David almost stops and that alone is pause for thought because he has no need to stop. He wouldn't have a need to stop with anyone else. And so he doesn't stop and he pushes away the feeling that crawls underneath it all, the words he'd taken a little too much glee in throwing at the man he's now standing next to.

There's a short silence, during which Miliband studies him, a little smile tugging at the edges of his mouth and David resists the urge to squint at him, to try to work that smile out. He also resists the urge to break the silence, letting it stretch out until finally, Miliband says "Th-so much for genuine compliments, Cameron."

David lets a grin poke out at his own mouth. "Come on, Miliband. You did get pasted by Klass-"

"Apparently to the envy of your Chanth-cellor" and David grins as he gestures to the office, and Miliband follows him inside.

He grins as Miliband sinks into the chair across from David's desk and glares, knowing it will only irk him further. Miliband rolls his eyes as David pushes a plate of biscuits closer to him.

"George might have had more than one reason for being so interested in the show" he admits as Miliband reaches for a Jaffa Cake and bites into it with a slightly more cheerful expression. "And you know you'd have done exactly the same thing if our positions were reversed, Miliband."

Miliband scowls, which David takes as capitulation. He sighs, biting into an oatcake.

"Anyway" he says, once the onus is on him to make amends. "That doesn't mean I agreed with what they said."

Miliband makes a sound remarkably like a snort. "I expect that will make the headlines. _Prime Minister in U-turn on mansion tax-"_

"Not with the tax" David corrects him, before Miliband can run away with the idea of another broken promise. "Just-I didn't think it was entirely fair to place you with three people who completely disagreed with you. Rather unsporting, really."

"You'd be forgiven for thinking otherwise."

David arches an eyebrow. "I didn't deny it. I just didn't actually_ say_ that."

"That applies to moth-st of your loopholes, though, Cameron."

"Honestly. I try to be _kind-"_

Miliband smirks. "I'm capable of defending myself, Cameron."

David rolls his eyes. _"Support _really is a foreign word to you, isn't it, Miliband?"

"If it's foreign, I'm surprised you haven't had it deported by now."

"Eat another Jaffa Cake. You're more tolerable when you don't talk."

"I think that might be the country'th current opinion about their leader-" Miliband reaches for another Jaffa Cake, and the retort's almost lackadaisical. After a moment, more quietly, he says "Thanks."

David raises an eyebrow. "What? No line about _patronizing praise_, or-"

Miliband widens his eyes. "After that PMQs, would you like one?"

David glares at him for another moment before Miliband's mouth twitches and the two of them burst out laughing at once, a sound that aches a little more than it should, tinged with the residue of the questions he didn't answer and the answers Miliband didn't want.

"Th-sporting" Miliband remarks, once they can both breathe again. "Very Eton, that term."

David spins another Jaffa Cake across the table towards him with a flick of his fingers. "Shut up, Miliband."

Miliband misses the Jaffa Cake and snatches it up from the desk without taking his eyes off David, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Etonian."

"Brownite."

* * *

"Don't pull the bladder trick" George advises him. "I can _never_ relax when you pull the bladder trick."

"I don't believe Enoch Powell patented the bladder trick with the purpose of relaxing-"

David can practically hear George's grimace through the phone. "God, I hope not. I mean, God knows what kind of kinky shit you're into-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

George laughs. "I'm always waiting for a disaster when you use the Enoch trick."

"Well, wish me luck. As Nancy pointed out today, it's bound to be so boring that nobody listens to it, anyway."

"Nothing like a bit of daughterly support."

David chuckles but the sound's heavier than he expected. "I wish she'd talk to me a little more, you know. The other night, I tried to ask who her favourite was in One Direction and she looked at me like I was an idiot when I said I'd been in a video with them."

George groans. "Libbie looks at me like I'm the geeky kid in her class that she's trying to avoid. Imagine, Dave. Me. Geeky."

"Completely implausible, Gideon."

"Shut up, David Donald."

* * *

After the speech (which, despite George's misgivings, did not involve the bladder trick or indeed, any disasters), David is rather pleasantly surprised to find Boris waiting for him back in Downing Street, and his Mayor greets him with a clap on the shoulder.

"Fantastic, Dave. Of course, I was watching with a fair amount of trepidation, knowing your penchant for paying homage to old Enoch-"

David's still running on adrenaline from his speech which might explain the fierce hug he wraps Boris in that reminds him a little of their Oxford days. Boris blinks and for a moment seems temporarily speechless, which could make David fear for the apocalypse. (Though he supposes it's warranted-he and Boris don't hug all that often, by a seemingly silent, mutual agreement.) When George appears, David pulls him in for a hug too, causing Sam and Frances to exchange amused looks.

Nick's texted David several variations of "Well done" and "Of course, a lot of my ideas were in there, but still, well done" and David can't even bring himself to be too cruel back. He has to admit, this is one of those moments that he thinks a coalition for the next five years wouldn't be the worst thing in the world and is also rather glad that Lynton can't read minds.

Michael, William and a lot of the others join in with the congratulatory messages and David finds that Downing Street is heading a little for a party atmosphere-albeit a very quiet party atmosphere, given that the children are asleep upstairs. Maybe it's the adrenaline or the champagne that Samantha's opened or both, but David finds himself grinning twice as hard at everyone, taking in Boris and George and Sam, and remembering with a jolt, just how lucky he is to have them.

It's when Boris is entertaining the rest with some multi-syllable worded story about Cassia's interactions with a boy from school ("I said, listen here, chap, don't imagine I can't fully comprehend the nefarious cognitive functions of the typical adolescent male") that David's phone rings and he excuses himself to the stairs and grins at the name he sees on the screen.

"Surprising speech, Prime Minister." Miliband's voice, nasal, lisp clinging to the edges of the words, is surprisingly welcome and David curls his hand tighter around the phone like a teenager. "I mean, it actually had some th-_s__ense_ in it."

"See you're no better at giving compliments than receiving them, Miliband." The happiness is high in his throat and chest and head-it's been a while since he drank this much. "Boris and George are here." The words trip out of his mouth before he can think twice about them. "You should come, you know."

"You do know it is past eleven, Cameron?"

"I'd have asked Nick but Miguel's still not sleeping through-" David's mouth's running away with him, the way it often does when he's had a drink, and the amusement in Miliband's tone is something he wants to hear again. "And it's equality, which you find important. Akin to giving-giving and receiving c-compliments-"

There's a long pause and then comes Miliband's voice, edged with that amusement. (That Miliband amusement. That Miliband _tone.)_

"Cameron, are you _drunk?"_

David yelps. "No! I-most certainly-I am _not-"_

He can practically hear Miliband's smile through the phone. "Scurrilouth-s, Prime Minister."

"I am _not drunk_, Miliband! I've had two-maybe_ three_-drinks-"

"Of course, Prime Minith-ster."

"It's _true."_ David glares at the phone. "I'm not drunk-I'm merely-_celebratory."_

Miliband's laughing harder now and David tries to glower at nobody. "Shut up" he manages, grin aching at his mouth. "I have a _right_ to be celebratory."

"You have a right to be modetht, too, if you ever want to take it up-"

David bursts out laughing, louder than he usually would. "Shh" he hushes himself and he hears something-a suspiciously high-pitched something-from Miliband's end of the phone.

"You're _giggling,_ Miliband."

"I am _not_ giggling, Cameron."

"You-" David tries to make a jabbing motion with one finger and succeeds in poking himself in the leg instead. "Were giggling. You like _honesty_, Miliband-"

"Are you sure you can give me the definition of honesty right now, Prime Minister?"

"Of course I can! Honesty-honesty is about-being honest-"

"Fantath-stic summary, Cameron-"

"You found it funny, Miliband-"

He hears Miliband laugh more quietly this time.

"You can come" he's saying again, without thinking. "I mean-it'd be-rather-I'd like it if you were here."

He winces at the words a second too late. There's a pregnant pause before Miliband says, his voice a little lower than usual, "I don't often hear that at parties."

There's a long pause while David turns the words over in his mind and then he says "That's not true. I mean-that-that might be true, but-I mean, it shouldn't be. I mean, I'd want you at a party."

There's another silence, and then Miliband, his voice a little less steady than usual, says "You're not going to jump on that, Cameron? You know, _"You don't even hear that from your own party",_ that th-sort of-"

"No." David can usually come up with something far better-he'll probably regret that he didn't in the morning-but all he can conjure up for the moment is "I wouldn't-I wasn't going to say that."

There's a silence and then "Well. Thank you." Something about the quietness of the words makes David ache and he doesn't know why. He holds onto the bannisters because the hall's spinning a little.

"Well done on your th-speech" Miliband says and David smiles, even as he yawns. "Thanks. Thank you. You don't even know what it was _about."_

"I imagine it was th-somewhat anti-UKIP."

David growls. Actually makes a growling sound.

Miliband laughs, which prompts David to try to return the compliment, casting about for a speech Miliband has given recently.

"Your speech was good, too."

"Which th-speech would that be, Prime Minister?"

"The one-" David tries to snap his fingers and fails. "The one about climate change! Yes! It was rather brilliant-brilliantly written-and-Thornberry. Sacking _Thornberry. That_ was an inspired move-"

Miliband laughs-higher than usual and less guarded and something about the sound makes David grin. "I'm going to remind you of this in the morning, Cameron."

"Of what? Me-me congratulating-"

George's head appears, poking round the bannisters. "Not telling Miliband state secrets, are you, Dave?"

David scowls as Miliband laughs again on the other end. George grins and holds his hand out for the phone. David hands it over reluctantly and George greets Miliband cheerfully-David hears Miliband say something about "Chancellor" and George smirks.

They're conversing about something or other and David's head's spinning a little. Vaguely, he notices this is a rather undignified position for a Prime Minister but somehow, his mind is a little too dizzy to care.

"Dave?" Sam's suddenly at his side, her lips twitching. "I think it might be time to go to bed."

Boris appears behind her. "Fantastic, Dave. This is a wonderful reminder of those Oxford nights, the blissful intransigence of youth-"

_"Why-"_ David lifts his head, trying to sound indignant, even as the words run into one another. "Does _everyone_ think I'm _drunk?"_

It's George who breaks off from his conversation, tucking the phone behind his ear, to say quite calmly "Well, that would be because you _are."_

David glares and to make matters worse, he can hear Miliband laughing on the other end of the line. But his eyes are heavy and his head hurts and he holds out his hand for the phone.

Miliband's voice is quieter now. David would say gentle but that might be the alcohol talking. "I'll advise you to get some sleep, Prime Minister."

"Your advice-" David's head slumps forward. "May be accurate for once, yes."

Miliband's laugh is soft. "Goodnight, Cameron."

David smiles, too tired to try to hide it. "Goodnight, Miliband."

For a moment after David hangs up the phone, he thinks he catches George watching him, head tilted to the side, with a look that's not exactly-not exactly _angry_-or indignant-a look that's more-almost _concerned-_

But then George's face clears and he's joining the others, telling David to go and get some rest if he can do that without waking the three children up and it's a small enough moment for David to let it slip through his grasp.

When the next morning, he awakens with his head aching a little and sees his phone flashing, he can't help but smile when he reads the message from Miliband.

** _Orange juice is good for hangovers, Cameron._ **

* * *

Nick supposes it's not exactly in the duties of the Deputy Prime Minister to be waving the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition off from a train station. Then again, it's not as though there've been many Lib Dem Deputy Prime Ministers so maybe Nick should create his own duties.

George is standing with him-discreetly, as always-as they watch David roll his eyes at Miliband's lack of punctuality. "Typical Labourite" he insists to Nick and George, which makes almost no sense. "It's like time doesn't mean anything to them."

Nick can't help but notice that there's a small smile hovering at David's lips which he seems to be failing to suppress.

George too, appears to have noticed, but unlike Nick, doesn't appear to find the situation quite so amusing. Nick frowns, then touches George's elbow. "With him out of the way" he says brightly, "We'll be able to get some actual work done."

George laughs, though that frown's still creased between his eyebrows and Nick casts a longer look at him. He remembers when he first met George properly, how those dark eyes had swept over him, as though taking everything in, and then offered a smile-a little smaller than David's, which always seemed to be trying to pull in everyone in the room at once.

Nick hadn't been too worried about David-competition, while it may not always be positive, did allow you get to know people fairly well. It had been George he'd, surprisingly, found himself a little nervous of; George, whose approval he had caught himself musing over, his own eyes searching for those cooler, dark ones with each decision they made, only to find that dark gaze already narrowed, scrutinising the facts and figures, at a speed which had always left Nick secretly a little awed.

While David's smiles had been easy to get hold of, George's had been rather more elusive, which, perversely, made Nick all the keener to get hold of them. It also made him wonder if George's smiles came more easily to everyone else.

It wasn't until after a few dinners with David's family, that he managed to open his mouth one evening, after he and David had swallowed a couple of drinks each, and say "Does-is George-struggling with this?"

David had frowned. "Alcohol? I doubt it."

Nick had shaken his head. "I mean-you know. Working. With us. Danny and I-the Lib Dems-"

David had laughed and Nick had frowned. David had shaken his head, touching Nick's elbow gently. "Sorry. It's just-honestly, if you could see how much George talks about Danny-"

"I-um-" Nick had kept his eyes on his drink. (Without it, he probably wouldn't have had the courage to bring it up.) "I didn't. So much mean-_Danny._ Or David, actually."

David had stopped laughing rather abruptly then and stared at Nick for a long moment. "Nick-" he'd said, while Nick had avoided his eyes, feeling horribly like a child. "George likes you."

The words were said so simply that Nick had felt the weight that had been bothering him for the last few weeks dissolve from his shoulders. He'd taken another gulp of drink to hide his smile, as David had said "And believe me, he likes working with you, both of you. And if he's not always-demonstrative-about it-well , that's the way George is, I suppose. But he does like you, Nick. Honestly."

Something in the tone had made Nick believe him. Whatever David's faults might be, he didn't lie to Nick. And so, gradually, as time had gone on and Nick had had to try less and less for George's smiles and they had found themselves exchanging conversation that was less and less about work, Nick had found himself anticipating those smiles rather than hoping for them.

Now, he watches George watch David, that crease of concern still present between his brows, but before Nick can say anymore, David announces loudly to someone behind Nick "I suppose Labour doesn't keep to schedules. Then again, we knew that already."

Nick watches George's eyebrows arch as Miliband appears at his side , rolling his eyes as he replies "I suppose Torieth-s don't put much store in transport systems-I thought we were all th-supposed to be waiting for improvements?"

The two of them are eyeballing one another and Nick bites his lip. "Well, try and survive the journey" he says. Miliband rolls his eyes again and David raises an eyebrow at Nick. "We'll survive."

George waits until the two of them have made it onto the train-with no flashes of cameras, thankfully-before he says "Bloody hope so. Or Lynton might be regretting this whole gesture."

Nick sniggers. "They get on better now. They'll survive." He reconsiders. "With injuries."

George snorts. "That'd be the good option."

They're walking back towards the cars now, security trailing around them, and Nick says, careful to keep a smile up, conscious of any cameras that might be lying in wait, "So, this is another one of Lynton's ideas?"

"Not entirely" says George, flashing his own smile. "More a suggestion that it looks better and supportive if the two of them appear to be taking a train journey together. Not as though Miliband's going to be watching David's speech or anything."

"Why's he there, then?"

"I think he'll be working on his own or something. His speechwriter's going to be there, something like that."

They've reached the car now, and they're climbing inside when Nick stops, one hand on the door and, meeting George's eyes across the roof, asks "What would be the bad option?"

George's eyes flicker to his own, a little sharper than usual. Nick knows-somehow just knows, a bright flash of knowledge in that second-that this would be a great picture, the two of them, gazes caught, over the roof of the car they're about to climb into together, to travel in together, with an answer caught between them that George already knows and that Nick's still trying to catch onto.

Then George moves, sliding into the car and slamming his own door shut, leaving Nick to follow him and so to do the same.

He waits, inside the car, watching George, for some quip, some line tossed out a little like David's. But instead, there's a long moment of silence before George says quietly "David really does give 100%."

Nick frowns. "I know" he says, wondering where this is heading. He's reminded vaguely of having his elder brother's exam results read out to him by the then-headmaster of Westminster, and the way the headmaster had lingered on the grades, staring at Nick over the top of the paper as he read out Nick's own marks.

George sighs. "I mean-David takes things seriously" he says. "Which _would_ be fantastic, obviously. Just, this time-it's like he's making too much effort." He frowns. "Or maybe not enough."

Nick blinks. He's used to not always being familiar with George's sometimes-too-mathematical patterns of thought but this extending to everyday conversation is a rather new development.

"No-" George turns to him, as the car starts to move. "I mean-it should be _more_ of an effort-probably. More of an effort than it is."

Nick is now watching George worriedly, wondering which one of them is misunderstanding the conversation.

George sees his confused expression and sighs. "I mean-there _isn't_ an effort. Like a lot of things with David. It's-you know-" George shakes his head. "I'm talking about nothing. Don't worry."

Nick watches him, then says in a low voice, "I don't think David exactly has to_ try_ to argue with Miliband."

George sighs. "Yes. And that's what-" He glances at Nick. "That's what worries me."

"Worries you-"

"Well, not worries." George waves a hand. "Concerns. _Preoccupies._ Not as serious as worries-"

"How is concerns not as serious as worries-"

"Oh, for God's sake." George runs a hand over his eyes. "It's David. David and Miliband. On a train together."

Nick blinks. "At Lynton and Craig's request. Probably Baldwin's as well, come to that-"

George sighs. "Yes. Yes, I know-" He shakes his head. "It's just-we're meant to be differentiating ourselves from Labour. Christ, they're meant to be differentiating themselves from _us."_ George sighs, head falling back against the seat, dark eyelashes almost black against the rather stark paleness of his skin. "It's just-finding the balance, I suppose. Between-it being difficult to _convey _that image-"

"And David and Ed looking like they want to scalp each other" Nick finishes.

George shrugs. "I suppose Lynton'd be on it, if it got too out of hand. God knows he manages it with everything else-"

"Pictures, especially. That is a speciality of Lynton's, pictures. Useful for the Lib Dems to know-"

"Shut up, Clegg." George throws one finger up at him. Nick winks. "That's Lynton. Good with indiscretions."

George speaks without letting his smile drop once. "One more, Clegg, and there'll be a few pictures of you splashing across the Mail-with my briefcase performing an extensive investigation into your aresehole-"

Nick bites his lip and waits a beat. Then, "Think about that a lot, do you, Osborne-"

George kicks him. Nick's still laughing even as he holds up his own briefcase as a shield. "What would that be for Lynton-concern, preoccupation-"

"With you, you'll have one word come May-_sacked _springs to mind-"

Nick holds up his hands, then frowns. "Seriously, worries is more severe than concerns? I'd have said the other way round-"

"You're a Lib Dem, of course you'd say the other way round, that's what you _do-"_

"Well, you'd know. With your concerns. And those pictures. What was her name, _Natalie-"_

"And if you don't shut up, Clegg, I'll be off making sure the word "preoccupation" will be one you'll never forget, as it'll be scribbled by a pen rammed up into a pretty sensitive area-"

"Speaking of sensitive areas."

"Oh, it'll be right at the top of your shit list. Take that _anatomically,_ Clegg."

* * *

"And the Prime Minith-ster once again exhibits the national success his party has made of the railways."

"Miliband, you do know that you don't gain some sort of omnipotence when you become Prime Minister?"

Ed sighs and presses his head against the window, wondering if it was a deliberate move on the part of the protection team to give them a private compartment. "Right now, I think renationalising the railways would be a very, very good idea."

Cameron rolls his eyes. "We're not delayed, Miliband. The Cameron train-I'm sure you're waiting for me to paint my name across it-just happened to be a few minutes late."

Ed nods. "Ah. The Prime Minith-sterial sense of duty rears its' head again-"

Cameron arches a brow. "It _was_ you who was ten minutes late, Miliband."

Ed sighs. "It wasn't _my_ fault that Daniel chose the last moment to throw up all over me."

Cameron leans forward then and Ed feels Cameron's gaze rest on him, until he slowly lifts his gaze. "Sorry" says Cameron, rather more sincerely than Ed would have expected. "Of course-" and then the smile peeks out. "I know what it's like when children step into government workings."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Your jokes are improving, Cameron."

"Thank you. How's Daniel?"

Ed sighs. "Probably hungry. His breakfast'th all over one of my shirts. Leave out the jibe, Cameron, policies all over the place, etc.-"

"Actually, I was going to say most people do that when they hear Labour's policies." Cameron smirks. "But that line's better. Thank you, Miliband."

"I've been missing the Tory empathy, Cameron-I didn't know you'd taken up a scholarship at the Mellor school of charm-" He can feel his voice climbing louder. "But thank you for the concern, given my five-year-old's probably th-sitting in Zia's lap annoying a doctor's waiting room-" He leans back against the seat. "Th-since _Juth-stine_ decided that she was too _busy_ to take him, and _might_ be able to make herth-self check her _phone-"_

He stops because Cameron's hand is on his wrist. He stares down, stupidly, as if he's forgotten whose hand it is.

"If you'd ever let me finish, Miliband-" Cameron says quietly. "I was going to say that, regardless of that quite charming Mellor comparison, I hope Daniel's doing well. " He raises an eyebrow. "I know what doctors' offices are like."

Ed swallows. The silence stretches out between them for a second before he says "Sorry." He glances down, then blinks back to Cameron's eyes, which are disconcertingly blue this close. "I didn't-it's just been rather-"

Cameron nods. "No harm done."

They both look down at Cameron's hand still wrapped around Ed's wrist and they both pull back at the same moment-Cameron adjusts his tie and clears his throat while Ed hastily turns to the window.

He glances at Cameron, clears his throat. "Um." He tugs at his sleeve. "At least, I'll have a th-story to tell Daniel now" he says, still keeping his eyes on the window, wondering vaguely if he'll see either of his sons at all this weekend. "He's always excited whenever we go on trains."

Cameron smiles. "He likes trains? Elwen went through-" He stops, chews his lip. "Sorry. Go on."

Ed frowns, but Cameron shakes his head. "Go on."

Ed shrugs, folds his hands together, Cameron's eyes still resting on his. "Daniel's a bit of a fan of trains" he says, trying to remember an anecdote Zia told him.

Cameron smiles. Not the typical Cameron-posed smile, either-something smaller, but one that makes it surprisingly easy to talk.

"He's just-ever since we took him on a th-steam train in Devon, he's been-well, Booboo and Heehee go on a lot of train rides." It had been Zia who'd told them Daniel liked trains, he thinks, and he tries to remember if Daniel still likes them-he'll have to ask Zia.

He winces immediately, but Cameron laughs. "Flo told me. She now thinks Hogwarts would be vastly improved with the presence of anthropomorphic sheep."

Ed grins. "I told you your kids have good taste, Cameron."

Cameron laughs, leaning back in his seat. "It sounds as though yours' do. I loved trains when I was a child." Cameron chews his lip and then glances back, to find Ed still watching him. He hesitates a moment, then says "Whenever we used to be on holiday or going-you know, back to boarding school I used to like the train journey best. Gave me a chance to just-you know-look out of the window." He laughs, suddenly, his own eyes now gazing through the glass. It must be the light but they look dreamier, gazing through the glass, and Ed finds himself leaning forward a little.

"It's just-" Cameron laughs, the sound a little more forced this time. "When-when we were coming back from holiday or I was going back to school, I used to-" He shakes his head-" I mean-it sounds ridiculous but-I liked to sit with my back to the engine. I could-I could-God, it sounds silly but it was like I could pretend I was going back home or back on holiday-and then of course-I suppose that'd make it worse because then I'd remember where I was _actually_ going and-" He laughs. "Go on, Miliband. Get in your lines." He tilts his head. _"Cameron, the Prime Minister who complains that his journey to Eton wasn't salubrious enough, _that sort of thing-"

Ed waits until Cameron has talked himself into silence, before he leans forward again, so that their foreheads are almost touching. "Actually, I was going to say that it must have been-you know, rather difficult."

Cameron stares at him and Ed swallows. "You know-to go away-I mean, you were-how old were you when you went to boarding-"

"Seven" Cameron says quietly. "I was seven."

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again.

"God" he says quietly. "I mean-it's just, well-" He glances down. "I don't-I don't think that I could have handled that, to be honest."

Cameron laughs, a little too tightly. "Oh-well, you-you get used to it, you know, there isn't really any other option-I mean-" He shakes his head. "I mean, I'm not complaining-I think I'd get crucified if I tried-" He laughs again, the sound sadder this time. "I had a fantastic education, just-that aspect was-occasionally a little difficult."

Ed grasps vainly for words but can't find any. Instead, he settles, rather lamely, on "I don't think you're complaining."

Cameron smiles and Ed squeezes his own hands tightly together. "Coming from you, that's almost praise, Miliband." His voice is soft and Ed tilts his head, taking in Cameron's eyes, the pout of his mouth, trying to rewind it through the years to see a little seven-year-old Cameron sitting with his back to the engine on his way to school, trying to pretend that he'd see his parents again soon.

He swallows, trying frantically to remember the last time he threw the word _Eton_ in Cameron's face. "That must have been-" he starts, then winces. "Gosh, I'm sorry, I'm-I'm making a meth-mess of this-"

Cameron laughs but it's not the laugh Ed expects. It's something quieter, gentler. "Thank you" he says and Ed arches a brow. "What for?"

Cameron smirks. "Making a mess."

Ed rolls his eyes. "There you are, Cameron. Tory empathy like one of those mayflies, I suppose-they live less than a day, yours' lives less than an _hour-"_

"You mean, _your _empathy, don't you, Miliband-I mean, I was the one _telling_ the story, you know, so technically, _you're_ the one who-you do know the _definition_ of empathy, don't you, that could be rather embarrassing-"

"Oh, shut up, Cameron-"

"Yours' might have a shorter lifespan than mine-anything that lives _less _than a mayfly-a gnat, a moth-"

"Oh, for God's-a _gnat?_ You'd think Eton might have taught you basic _biology-"_

"Is that what you studied so assiduously during your years at Haverstock, Miliband-devoting the years of your youth to the complete evolutionary function of a gnat-"

"See, _this_, this is _exactly_ why you-God knows what Eton was teaching you-obviously not basic politics-maybe how to swipe some illegal _substances-"_

"Illegal substances-is that what you called them, Miliband? Illegal substances-"

"Oh, shut up."

"I can see it now, the Labour manifesto. _"Building a fairer Britain. Our leader, Ed Miliband, gnat expert-""_

"Are you serious-how are we talking about _gnats,_ Cameron-"

"You brought it up, you said-"

"No, you-_you_ brought it, this isn't Prime Minister's _Questions,_ Cameron, there's no one else here to hear you not answer-"

The argument goes on for longer than any argument about gnats should and Ed knows that Cameron isn't the only one grinning. But then again, that's what he knows-this is what they both know.

The argument-which only ends when one of Cameron's team pops their head round the door with tea for both of them-is another one that's dwindling to a few lines "Mayflies-May, that's suitable, Cameron, not the only thing that will come to an end, then-" "Oh, really, they can throw joint funerals for our careers, then, mine and yours-that'll save some public funding, won't it?"-when Cameron suddenly meets his eyes and says, in a tone completely different than the one he was using a moment ago, "Thank you."

Ed blinks. "What for?"

"Well, like I said, the mess." Cameron's mouth twitches. "And for not making an Eton remark. Just-thank you."

The sheer sincerity of it knocks Ed's words sideways and he swallows, a sentence thick in his throat. But he can't get it out, so he just says, quietly, "It's fine."

Cameron smiles at him and it's not the typical Cameron smile-it's the small one. Ed swallows and watches, even after Cameron looks away, frowning at the sudden-the sudden strange-

He almost wants to-

What?

He stares at Cameron for a few moments before he realises that he's looking for the words-_elitist, privileged, money_-that he's always thrown at Cameron. And instead, he's watching Cameron gaze out of the window, the image of his seven-year-old self coming all too easily to mind, and he feels a wave of something that makes him tighten his arms so they don't move of their own accord.

It's then that he realises it's something disturbingly close to _fondness _and he's still trying to understand that when Cameron draws in a breath and says "But thanks for the mess. And no Eton lines."

There's a breath and then Cameron's lips twitch, a grin breaking over his mouth, despite his best efforts. "Shut up, Milib-"

"Eton Meth-ss, Cameron?"

"Heard it as soon as I said it. "

"Apparently not as soon as-"

"Shut up, Miliband."

* * *

Ed supposes that most people would imagine political articles being written around a wooden table in the heart of Parliament, rather than being scribbled at a small bar huddled up on a stool.

"You know if you end up Prime Minister" Marc mutters, shooting Ed a grin as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. "We'd better get better writing facilities than this."

Whenever he works on speeches with Marc, Ed's always reminded of days huddled in Oxford's library bent over tables, their hands knocking together as they scribbled essays and dissertations, whispers crashing into each other. Now, with Marc frowning as he underlines a few words, Ed tugs at his loosened tie and blinks, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, if it hadn't been for Tom, we'd have been doing this in Norman Shaw South-"

"Ah, and the charm offensive with Cameron." Marc grins, scoring another line under a sentence. "How is that going, by the way?"

Ed opens his mouth and finds himself searching for the words but Marc's already going on "Still, he seemed friendly enough at Sam's party. And Samantha."

"Yes." Ed finds himself struggling for the right response but eventually settles on, "Yes, th-Samantha's lovely."

Marc nods, and then says "But occasionally, this entails sacrifices. And currently, the sacrifice is a nice writing desk."

"Indeed."

Marc laughs, pulls his jumper down. Ed watches him enviously, longing for one of his own jumpers at home-November has brought a snap in the air, a crisp coldness that makes Ed shiver when he drags himself out of bed in the morning.

"So, basically-today, you get to visit this place-" Marc gestures around the one small bar in the crumbling hotel, which in the rest of the rooms houses events for underprivileged children. "Cameron gets to try and rally his party because they got beaten for not being racist enough. And you two got to get off a train together."

Ed laughs and nods. "That's fairly accurate."

If he's honest with himself, he's rather enjoyed touring the place. Something about visiting people has always excited him a little-the idea of visiting people, anyway. Maybe it comes from his father, telling him over and over again-_you've got to go out and meet people, Edward, that's the only way you can let them know._

He does always like the idea of it-and sometimes, he loves it in practice, coming into contact with people outside the Westminster bubble who don't eat and breathe politics-but then sometimes it reminds him of his days at Haverstock, when he'd find himself staring round at the other pupils, wondering what it would be like to see through their eyes and somehow never quite grasping it.

"Anyway-" Marc laughs. "This article should be better than whatever Cameron says to that campaign team today. I mean, if half of the team turn up after last night-"

Ed shrugs, purposefully avoiding Marc's eyes. He knows Marc will probably talk to Cameron later-they'll both be here later, for the typical photo opportunities-and he also knows that Marc has known him, Ed, for over twenty years, and so he isn't entirely sure Marc won't pick up on the-the-_confusion._

Ed plays back their conversation on the train over and over, travelling back to it like a tongue to a loose tooth-that strange, confused mixture of feelings when Cameron had unexpectedly-_confided_ in him-a mixture that's Ed fairly sure isn't negative.

In fact, he's not entirely sure _what_ they-and that's the _problem-_

"Ed." Marc taps his shoulder gently. "Wake up. One mention of Cameron and you go dreamy."

Ed's head snaps up. "What?" he manages, a little louder than usual, an edge of alarm sharp in his stomach.

Marc laughs. "You never finished your sentence. Just because you were thinking about ousting Cameron in May-"

Ed feels his shoulders sink in relief. "I was-" he starts, then stops. Let Marc think that was all that was occupying his thoughts.

"I was just thinking" he says, tapping his pen on the desk absent-mindedly. "I mean-I don't agree with him, but Cameron is rather good at things like thith. And speeches."

He has to admit this about Cameron; no matter the man's faults, he's a remarkably good orator. It's something Ed's always found secretly, maddeningly enviable.

Marc stares at him incredulously, than laughs. "Better than you?"

Ed feels the blood rise to his cheeks. "No" he laughs, struggling to make the sound light. He knows Marc is just joking-he knows that there's always a small part of him that wonders-perhaps another relic from Haverstock-whoever he's talking to, whether they're laughing with him or at him.

Marc's watching him closely. "Joking, Ed" he says gently and he touches Ed's wrist, the way he did back in university when Ed was panicking about an exam or a meeting or a grade that just would never quite climb as high as David's, no matter what he did.

Ed nods and tries to smile. "I know."

Marc pats his arm and then pulls the sheet of paper towards him, frowning down at something. "Now, do you think we should link these two points-or do you think we should separate them entirely, ward off the champagne-socialist thing since Thornberry's managed to go and bring that into it-"

Ed gladly turns his attention to the sentence, even as he recognizes one of Marc's old ways of getting him to relax. Ed sometimes wonders if Marc's trick is so effective because it serves to distract him or simply because words and facts and figures can be easier to deal with than his own thoughts.

"Anyway" Marc says gently, after several minutes of reading have passed. "I was going to say, it's rather generous of you to compliment him like that."

Ed shrugs, tugging at the end of his sleeve absent-mindedly. "Well, it makes senth-se. "He keeps his eyes on his work, striving to keep his voice level. "I mean, if I've got to-it's not juth-just about knowing Cameron's weaknesses, I've got to know his th-strengths, too-"

Marc winces then, and Ed frowns. "Whath-what's wrong?" he asks, his heart suddenly pounding, his throat tightening. He tries to breathe slowly, to remind himself that Marc's his friend, that Marc knows he's right, that his message is the right one, but the memory's pushing sharply at the edges of his thoughts-of sitting in a hard-backed schoolchair, shirt sticking to his back, muffled laughter exploding around him, and trying to smile, before the realisation finally catching up, picking up in his brain that they were laughing at him, not with him.

Marc forces a smile and Ed grabs at his sleeve before he can turn away. "It's not nothing." He hates nothings-they nearly always turn out to be somethings. "Marc, tell me."

Marc puts the pen down, sliding off his glasses with a sigh. Then he turns round on the stool, so he's facing Ed head on. "It's just-um-I suppose-the way you were talking about him then. Cameron-well, you sounded-" Marc frowns. "I was going to say friendly but there were a few too many-comments earlier. Maybe-sort of friendly. A bit like a mugger and an old lady. When one might go for the other's life-savings at any moment-"

Ed blinks. "What."

Marc shakes his head. "Money on the mind at the moment, with the baby. Anyway. I just-I suppose I meant-more generous, personally, rather-rather than politically."

He eyes Ed warily. "I mean, it's ridiculous, obviously." Marc laughs suddenly. "Ignore me. I mean, he's your rival, for pity's-pity's sake-"

"No, no, you-um-" Ed wishes he had a Rubix Cube to occupy his hands. "Well, I-I thought it was the other way round. I mean-that you thought we were too close personally-I mean-um-" He feels his face flame. "Not that we're cloth-close, exactly-more-I mean, we spend time together-"

Marc's laughing now, touching his elbow. "OK. I mean, it's good that you get on-just-a little awkward, I suppose-since-" The ghost of the election hangs between them.

Ed nods. "Yes-yes, well-" He pulls the questions closer again. "We get on well-"

(Getting on well could mean confiding childhood stories. Hiding with remote controls. Fighting over a chair.)

(Getting on well could mean a lot of things.)

Marc smiles. "Good." He grins at Ed and turns back to the draft-Marc was always better at letting things roll off his back. (Or seeming to let things roll off his back. Ironic that Ed's the one who became a politician.)

Ed watches Marc chew his lip as he crosses a word out, head bobbing as he writes and maybe it's the sheer familiarity of it that makes him ask "Marc?"

Marc glances up with a grin. "Yeah?"

Ed runs his tongue over his teeth, his mouth suddenly intensely dry. The words fumble over each other in his throat, the words he never asks because of course he can, of course it's possible, of course it's-

_How did-_

_Is it-_

_Can I-_

The ball of confusion and strangeness and what feels a little too much like _happiness_ when he's with Cameron simply won't unravel and be squeezed into simple sentences.

He swallows and says, with a far bigger smile, "Which was I, the woman or the mugger?"

Marc blinks and then his eyes light up. "Which one's less offensive?"

They're both laughing and Ed's pretending that he doesn't see Marc watching him curiously, through their laughter. They both pretend not to hear any of the questions Ed might have asked.

* * *

It's later, when they're sitting in the small lounge area that Cameron's appearance before MPs yesterday starts playing, and Ed takes a small sip of beer and watches as Cameron gestures a little widely, making some announcement. Ed can't hear it but it seems to be going well-Cameron's cheeks are flushed and as he arches an eyebrow, Ed feels his mouth twitch with a grin breaking out slowly across his mouth. Tom and Stewart, who've travelled by car, are watching elsewhere, so for the moment, it's just Ed and Marc, and so perhaps he lets himself smile a little more than he usually would.

Cameron pauses for a moment, a small, delighted smile playing around his mouth just for a second. Ed counts two dimples in his cheeks and then wonders what on Earth's wrong with him.

"Did well, didn't he?" Ed jumps at Marc's voice and tears his eyes away from the screen, hands sliding under his knees.

"Um-yeah" he manages, his eyes roaming back to Cameron on screen before he can stop himself. Cameron's grinning now, adjusting his tie, that smile still creasing his eyes. Ed rolls his own more out of habit than anything, but the stab annoyance doesn't feel nearly as sharp as usual. In fact, he feels the smile spreading at his mouth again and it's only when Marc clears his throat, that Ed glances away again, his cheeks warm.

Marc winks. "Maybe you could one of your appearances and compare it. I don't know, set yourselves on fire and see who lasts the longest before one of you concedes the other's was best-"

"You could be a politician with that kind of insight" Ed manages, but his eyes are still fixed on Cameron. He feels an irrational pang of disappointment as the screen changes-which is ridiculous, Cameron will be here before long-

Marc's eyes flicker between Ed's face and the TV screen but all he does is smile and ask if Ed would like another drink to lubricate his throat to prepare for all the arguing that's probably imminent, when David makes his appearance from Rochester or Newport.

* * *

David has to admit, listening to one of Ed's speeches from a while back, he finds he enjoys it even more than he expected-watching the clips they've stored on the laptop, he finds himself facing amused looks from his aides when he finds himself laughing, shaking his head fondly.

(Fondly. Over Miliband, _fondly?)_

But it's enough moments of laughter and when they finally get Miliband's statement through, there are enough good points, that when David sees Ed as he walks into the room, he's able to say genuinely "Well done on that statement on Thornberry, Miliband. Pleasantly surprised."

Miliband arches an eyebrow. "A week late, I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult, Cameron." But David touches Miliband's elbow then before he can stop himself and he catches Miliband's small, surprised smile.

* * *

It's after an hour or so that they find themselves outside together, when David steps out for a few moments, now that Craig and Bob are chatting away, and a moment later, Miliband steps out beside him.

David leans back against the wall and glances back at the members of his security team just inside the door. He's only just out of sight of them, the way a Prime Minister rarely ever is, and there's something sharp about the freedom of that. He's missed it, he realises, and he hears a soft laugh next to him.

His eyes snap open as he glances at Miliband, to find the other man staring at him. "What?" he asks, far more quietly than he means to, and Miliband stares at him for a moment, eyes looking darker this close to one another, before he shakes his head. "Nothing, just-Prime Minister off a leash."

David rolls his eyes and then shifts a step closer to Miliband. "How was your day?"

Miliband shrugs. "Rather interesting. Worked a lot on statement questions with Marc. Your appearanth-ce yesterday was surprisingly impressive."

David doesn't have to fake the smile. "Thank you, Miliband. To quote you, I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."

Miliband laughs again and steps closer so that their sleeves are brushing. David glances at him and finds himself wondering how many men all over the country are doing the same thing right now-standing outside together on a rare break from work, air laced with freedom and sharp-edged barbs of friendliness.

He watches Miliband for a moment, as the other man stares ahead. His lips twitch as he says "I didn't quite get a chance to look at the pool table, though."

David grins. "Where's a pool table?"

Miliband points over his shoulder at what is obviously an extension of the building. David watches the undisguised longing in Miliband's eyes, as he takes in the entrance to the clearly-missed pool table. There's something so utterly open about that look-that slightly gawky smile, the overly wide eyes that make Miliband look rather like an earnestly happy schoolboy.

Maybe it's the look on Miliband's face or that feeling of being away from cameras and guards and scrutiny for even five minutes or something wild and maybe a little mad about the freedom that's rushing in David's chest but it's then that he pulls out his phone. He sends a message and then he reaches for Miliband's sleeve-but redirects his hand at the last moment, letting it brush Miliband's elbow instead. "Come on."

"What?" Miliband stops, turning to stare at him. "Don't we need to get one of the protection te-"

"I've just texted them. I've told them I've taken you off for a brief pre-arranged discussion. And it's going to look rather flimsy if we're just standing out here." He tugs Miliband's elbow this time, leading him to the extension. Miliband's eyes widen. "But-Cameron-"

"What?" David's too busy relishing the weird freedom of it all, the sensation of running free, the same one he used to get as a child when he stole strawberries from the bushes, crammed the sour-sweetness into his mouth, red juice staining his fingers.

Miliband bites his lip and glances back. "But-we aren't _supposed-"_

David rolls his eyes. "We're next door. It's perfectly safe. Probably safer than bunking off a lesson-" He stops as Miliband scowls and glances away, chewing his lip. "Really, Miliband?"

Miliband glowers. "I happened to be rather diligent with my th-schoolwork, _Cameron."_

David stares at Miliband in his slightly skewed tie, the scowl knotting his brows together, and bursts out laughing.

Miliband scowls harder and it's as David steps forward, eyes drifting to the security identification tag that Miliband's wearing loosely around his neck, that the idea prickles into impish life. "Honestly, Miliband, you never skipped a lesson?"

Miliband sighs and David grins at the warning signs of an imminent lecture. "I know Tories don't consider education their greatest priority, Cameron, but-"

David reaches out and before Miliband can do more than stumble over his words, lifts the security tag over his head.

"Wh-" Miliband splutters, as David grins and backs away in front of him, holding the tag out, daring Miliband to come and get it. _"Cameron-"_

"I do believe you need this tag, Miliband-" David deliberately takes a few more steps backwards, towards the door, even as Miliband splutters and fumes and reaches out, fruitlessly, for the tag. _"Cameron_-give that _back-"_

"Of course, you could always just come here and I'll hand it over-"

"Cameron-this ith-s _not funny-"_ Miliband's scowling in a way that's so ridiculously schoolboyish that David can't help but laugh which Miliband seems to take as a challenge. "You're-this is _childish,_ Cameron-"

David just arches an eyebrow and then with a grin, turns and pushes the door open of the extension building, quickening his pace a little.

He waits, feeling that smile ache at his mouth, the mischief high and sweet in his chest, and then he hears it, the indignant, nasal, ridiculously annoyed _"Cameron!"_ and then Miliband's footsteps following him.

David rounds the corner into what is clearly a deserted games room and which he sees immediately contains the longed-for pool table. Smiling, he steps back, so he's just a little out of sight of the doorway and when Miliband bursts in a moment later, voice already stretched into a furious "Cameron, this is _not fun-"_ David steps up behind him and taps his shoulder.

Miliband lets out something a little like a shriek as he spins round and David almost collapses with laughter, as the scowl returns to Miliband's face with full force. "That _wasn't funny,_ Cameron-"

David shakes his head, still almost helpless with laughter. "I'm sorry" he manages to choke out and when Miliband just shakes his head, folding his arms tightly across his chest, David takes in a deep breath and then touches his arm. "Honestly, Miliband. It was only a joke."

Miliband still scowls but he doesn't push David's hand away and David, encouraged, holds out the security tag as an olive branch. "It was only a joke. Honestly." His hand hasn't moved from Miliband's arm and Miliband lifts one shoulder, looking younger than ever. Before David can stop himself, his hand squeezes gently and Miliband looks up sharply, dark gaze finding David's eyes.

They look at one another for a few moments which seem to stretch out longer and David's voice is far softer when he says "Honestly."

Miliband watches him for a long moment and then slowly holds out his hand for the tag. David hands it over and Miliband's fingers brush his own a little nervously.

"Thanks." There's something different in Miliband's voice and they both glance up to find the other watching them with the exact same expression on their face.

They both look away and David gestures to the pool table. "Anyway" he says, his voice a little overbright. "Pool table awaits."

He glances back to find Miliband hastily looking away from him again and David feels something like a smile tugging at his mouth as Miliband rolls his eyes a second too late and heads for the pool table, his eyes brightening a little as he picks up a cue. David steps back to watch, that smile still there, but sweeter somehow-almost like a memory, as he watches Miliband line up a shot. It's not quite painful-more like the ache of a long-forgotten feeling.

Miliband's eyes are narrowed in concentration as he jabs the cue once hard and two balls end up in the pockets.

David laughs at the wide-eyed look on Miliband's face and watches as the other man lines up two more balls, his eyes a little brighter than usual. Miliband's gaze is fixed on the balls, and David watches, taking in the look of intense concentration.

Miliband shoots two more balls in and then slides off his suit, dropping it on the chair behind him. David watches as Miliband leans forward, arms encased in white sleeves, long fingers wrapped around the cue, dark eyes fixed on the ball. David watches, suddenly a little more aware of his heartbeat as he takes in the unusual stillness of Miliband's body, the focus in his eyes. Something about Miliband is less gawky, less self-conscious now-instead, for all the fierce concentration, there's something that's somehow more comfortable, almost relaxed in his own skin. David feels his breath catch for a moment at the look on Miliband's face, the way his eyes almost glitter before he jabs the cue forward and the two balls are promptly shot across the table.

"Goodness-" And it's the Miliband he recognizes again, who stares at the pool table with that wide-eyed dumbstruck look, as if he's been hit on the back of the head. "That's actually rather surprising-" His hair's a little rumpled, his sleeves a little too long and watching Miliband with his big, dark eyes and surprised, delighted grin, something sharply unfamiliar seems to rise in David's chest, again like a taste of a long ago memory, almost a longing.

Miliband meets his eyes and David can't help but smile at the look on his face. "We might have found an area where your self-assessment is actually less than your prowess." He winces inwardly at the over-formalized tone and before Miliband can say anything hastily pushes on with "I haven't played pool in a while, myself. Sometimes couldn't make the shot properly-"

"Too busy with croquet, Cameron?"

David rolls his eyes. "Precisely, Miliband. As a child, I was far too busy aiming my croquet mallet at the heads of the poor chaps who dared to position a fork incorrectly."

Miliband's mouth twitches. "Etonian."

"Brownite."

Miliband is watching him with a smile and his head tilted to one side and perhaps it's the fact that there's something so comfortable about the silence-a familiarity David has come to enjoy without realising-that makes him say "Why don't you share your knowledge, Miliband?"

Miliband smirks. "Cameron, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings but it would really take a little longer than half an hour to explain the rules to you."

"Good to know the Labour policy of sharing gains with the less fortunate remains intact-"

Miliband almost chokes. "The less fort-Cameron, reassure me that you do not consider yourself one of the _sufferers_ in this country-"

"Miliband, have you ever heard of the word _joke?_ And I wasn't asking for the rules, I meant how to do the-" David gestures vaguely, as he shrugs off his suit. "The shot thing."

Miliband shakes his head, one side of his mouth curled, eyebrows arched. "Shot thing." He picks up the cue and hands it to David. "Fantastic terminology, Prime Minister."

"Oh, shut up, Miliband."

"And the Bullingdon Boy is back."

David rolls his eyes but before he can shove the cue back, Miliband sighs and grabs his wrist. "Here, hold it-" Carefully, he moves David's hand further down the cue, his fingers surprisingly warm. David feels the heat rise under his collar as Miliband carefully, and a little awkwardly, touches his elbow, manoeuvering his arm into place. Miliband's chin skates across David's shoulder and his hair brushes David's neck. It tickles and David's suddenly very strongly aware of his heartbeat.

"Sorry-" Miliband pulls back and David manages an "It's fine" as Miliband stops behind him. David risks a glance at him and swallows when he sees that Miliband's cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, and David hastily looks away.

"OK." Miliband's voice is brushing his shoulder, so close that David can feel the words vibrating through his shirt. "Lift your arm-actually, let me-"

David waits as Miliband's arm stretches out along his own, fingers brushing David's knuckles. His other hand's braced on David's shoulder, keeping them both upright. David swallows, Ed's words warm on the back of his neck. "Pull your arm back-here-" David feels Ed step directly behind him, so that his shirt brushes against David's. "Now, you can pull your arm back-just keep your eye on the ball-"

David nods, too aware of Miliband's body heat at his back and their fingers a little too close together. He takes a deep breath, pulling his scattered thoughts back into focus and trains his eye on the ball. He pulls the cue back.

One ball rolls softly across the table. It comes to a halt and sits there insultingly, staring at David.

David glares at it.

He waits for the taunt, the barb fired into his ear but instead, he feels laughter vibrating against his back. Before he can pull away, however, Miliband's voice is in his ear, words tickling his neck. "Don't worry. Just-here-" Miliband slides David's hand down a few inches so that he's gripping the cue a little more tightly. "Now-just take another-have another go-"

David nods and a nervous laugh breaks from his own throat at the same time as he feels it vibrate from Miliband's. For a moment, the two of them are laughing together, Miliband's chin on his shoulder, their hands wrapped around the same cue.

"Here-just pull back-" Miliband gently guides his hand back and David feels his chest tighten strangely, his mouth suddenly dry. He pulls the cue back slowly, then jabs it.

This time, he manages to hit a second ball but it rolls only a few inches before it comes to a stop.

David grits his teeth and this time Miliband gives his arm what seems to be an attempt at a comforting pat, before he repositions the cue and breathes "OK, here, a bit sharper this time-"

A couple more jabs of the cue gets the ball closer and closer to a pocket; David can feel his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, an old habit from when he was eight and puzzling endlessly over his fractions. Miliband's voice is gentler than he would have expected guiding him back each time to the cue, guiding it forward. As it goes on, David finds his shoulders relaxing a little, even as Miliband leans against him. Something about this-the concentration and the focus and the feeling of time stretching out before them-reminds him of long ago days on the playing fields of Eton, struggling to hold a cricket bat at just the right angle or strangely enough, days in the basement of his parents' house, doing nothing more strenuous than leaning over a scrabble board with the rain falling on the windows outside. There's something there in those memories before Eton, even before Heatherdown perhaps, that's an almost aching sweetness, that he's never quite been able to reach since. But now, he can feel it again, a ghost in his chest, with Miliband's voice soft at his neck, almost tickling at his skin.

David's lost count of how many goes he's had when he jabs the cue forward for what seems to be the umpteenth time.

The cue hits the ball. The ball hits a second. And the second ball rolls into the hole.

David stares at it stupidly for a moment, dumbfounded that he could actually have succeeded after so long, and Miliband's delighted laughter echoes around them. "You did it!" he exclaims and the sound is so sincere that David, staring at the pool table, feels a smile already blossoming at his mouth, even as he turns to face Miliband, who's beaming as if David's just discovered a cure for cancer.

"You actually did it, Cameron-" he says, still beaming, that wide grin that David can't bring himself to describe as gawky right now. The words aren't even double-edged-they're bright, genuine, and David, triumph fizzing in his chest, says without thinking twice, "With your help."

Ed laughs, taking the cue from David, and the sound is so raw and delightedly off-guard, and maybe it's that and the gleeful thrill of it being the two of them away from the constant security, protection, guards and the brief whispers of those long-forgotten days curled up on the living room floor where triumph could be dredged just from spelling out a word, no matter what the score, that makes him reach out to Ed, throwing his arms out without thinking.

Ed's arms are out too, and for a moment, they freeze awkwardly, their hands hovering an inch away from each other's shoulders. David breaks the stalemate, placing a hand on Miliband's upper arm and patting his shoulder, holding on for a few moments. Ed awkwardly returns the gesture and they hold on for a few moments, David taking in Ed's dark eyes as the two of them smile almost shyly at each other.

David might enjoy being off the leash for a while but he's fairly sure that both he and Miliband are secretly thankful to hear his protection team's voices at the door. It gives them an excuse to give each other a final pat on the arm, a final, more conspiratorial grin than usual, and then turn to face the music, their arms brushing together for a last moment. It almost allows David to forget that, for a moment, he had very nearly ended up hugging Ed Miliband.

* * *

The air is biting, cold, the first, long fingers of winter creeping in to stroke their skin and David's glad when they're back on the train, warmth enveloping him like a blanket. He can't help but wrap his arms around himself with a small shudder as his body adjusts.

"It's freezing" Miliband says as they step into their compartment and David nods. "Colder than most people's homes under Labour's watch."

"That was a th-slicker transition than your attempt at a pool move, Cameron."

Miliband's taken a seat by the window and without thinking, David sinks down beside him. Miliband blinks, but says nothing, instead simply adjusting himself to give David more room. David stares out of the window at the darkening sky and leans his head back, closing his eyes. His body's aching with tiredness and as the train begins to move, he finds himself grateful that they're in a private compartment.

"My brother used to do that." Miliband's voice is soft and David's eyes flicker to see Miliband too, staring out of the window.

"What, sleep? Most humans do."

Miliband rolls his eyes. "It's actually quite fasth-fascinating having a conversation with you, Cameron. Trying to be civil with you-gives you a sense of what persistence must have felt like for those who were dispatched to deal with Rasputin-"

"Yes, Miliband, hold up assassins as examples of persistence-fantastic, why don't you just hold up Lee Harvey Oswald as an example of brilliant sharpshooting-"

Miliband makes a sound suspiciously like a snort and David grins, turning to take him in. They're interrupted briefly by an aide, who leaves them a plate of biscuits which Miliband takes and holds out to him. "Biscuit, Cameron?"

David takes one blearily. "Thanks" he says, though the aide's already left and Miliband lowers the plate carefully between them. He notices Miliband eyeing the Jaffa Cakes rather avidly and gives him a tired smile. "You can have the Jaffa Cakes if you want, Miliband."

Ed glances at him. "Are you sure?" he asks, though his eyes have lit up and David smiles at the sight. He nods and Miliband wastes no time, reaching happily for the nearest one. David watches the smile spread as he bites into the Jaffa Cake, watches a second longer than he means to and can't stop smiling himself, even when Miliband glances at him.

"What?" he says, a little doubtfully, and David, a little caught out, just shakes his head. "Nothing. Just-nothing."

Miliband raises an eyebrow but seems to let the matter drop. Which is good because David's too tired to wonder if he could explain it any further.

He remembers Miliband's eyes on his face then as he reminisced about trains and suddenly feels a vague prickling of guilt.

He reaches out, letting his hand brush Miliband's arm. "Sorry" he says and the word is quiet. "Tell me what you were going to say."

Miliband blinks at him and opens his mouth. David braces himself for a remark-he'd deserve it, after all-but instead, Miliband just says, quietly, "David-my brother-juth-st-he always fell asleep. On trains, in the car-you know-the way-I mean, I did too, but-" He shakes his head, chewing at his lip. "It sounds silly-"

"No, it doesn't." David says the words before he can think about it, but he knows he means it. "Go on."

Miliband's eyes are focused on the window, even though it's too dark to see their surroundings flashing by. "It's just-there were times when our dad would take us on drives and David would fall asleep and-I don't know-it'd just be me and him. I'd get you know-to just talk with my dad. More one-on one, I-I suppose. So-I always liked it. When David was asleep, I mean." He chews at his lip. "I told you it sounded silly, Cameron."

"No, it doesn't." David's voice is quieter than he means for it to be. "You wanted your dad to yourself for a while. That doesn't make you silly-it's-" He hovers over the word for a moment. "Normal" he says quietly and Ed smiles. "Not a word I often hear, Cameron."

David smirks. "Too special to be normal. I think Nancy's got that on a T-shirt."

Ed grins. "I've th-said before your daughter's rather intelligent, Cameron."

David returns the smile. Some of the warmth has seeped back into his body now and the darkness outside seems to make it brighter inside the compartment and maybe that, plus the friendly drowsiness, makes it easier to say "My brother occupied a lot of my father's attention, I have to say."

Ed glances at David. "Allan-Alex?"

David smiles. "Alex. He was the eldest and I suppose-my parents didn't have favourites but I suppose it's different when it's your first child. I mean, he went off to school when he was seven-" He waits for the barb from Miliband but the other man just nods, dark eyes resting on David's face. "So after that, we didn't see each other much in term time, but he-" He laughs, rubs at his eyes. "I suppose you could say he cast a bit of a shadow. Especially at Eton. Top of the class, all that, you know-"

He thinks he sees Miliband wince for a moment but the other man just nods, his eyes never leaving David's face.

David tries to laugh, his head heavy. "I suppose that it's a second-son thing" he says, eyes drifting to the window. "My sisters didn't seem to get the pressure."

Miliband's laugh is close enough to tickle David's skin. "I never understood why people thought being the youngest was the better end of the deal. It just gives you more to live up to."

David shakes his head. "I suppose everyone must feel like that about their siblings. Nick was a second son, too."

Ed's mouth twitches. "Muth-st be a common denominator among politicians."

David grins and lets his eyes flicker closed. "God, I'm tired" he manages, his mouth stretched in a yawn. "It's been rather a long day."

Ed glances at him. "I was going to refer to the plights of people on zero-hour contracts, Cameron, but on th-second thoughts-" He tilts his head to the side. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

David sighs. "Really, Miliband? No comments on how un-Prime Ministerial that would be?"

"I think most people have become accuth-stomed to that from you, Cameron."

David sighs. "Thank you, Miliband. I can rather picture you being a _nurse_, you know-one of the ones around the death bed who likes to complain about what a large amount of money the machines cost-"

"Thank you, Cameron, we prefer to defend the NHS, but-"

David yawns again, essentially cutting off the conversation. Miliband sighs. "Cameron, just go to sleep." He watches him for a moment with an expression that David can't quite read. "I'll watch out for anyone if you like" he says quietly and David bites his lip, something about the gentleness of the tone and how tired he is sending a pang through his chest.

He must give Miliband some kind of doubtful look because Ed sighs. "It would hardly look good for me if I-tweeted some photo of you _th-s__leeping,_ Cameron." His lip twitches.

David sighs. "I know , I suppose-"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "I'm hardly _Ballth_, Cameron-"

David raises an eyebrow. "And I thought you and our beloved Shadow Chancellor were the best of pals" he mutters, too tired to come up with anything else. "One too many hand gestures, was it?"

Ed rolls his eyes and David closes his own. "Sorry" he says and he feels rather than sees Ed's head nodding. He chooses his next words as carefully as he can, given how tired he is. "Really, you wouldn't trust him?"

Miliband's voice curls with amusement. "I'm not giving you that, Cameron. I can th-see the headlines now-no doubt Lynton would be delighted-"

David opens his eyes slightly. "I didn't mean politically" he says, his voice a little lower now. "I meant-as a friend."

He waits for another barbed response but it doesn't come. Instead, there's a long, indrawn breath. "It's not that I don't like him-"

David resists the urge to snort.

"But-Ed isn't exactly-" David feels Miliband sigh. "Receptive. On occasion."

David's eyes open. "Well, that's his issue" he manages. "You're his leader. He-" He might be tired but his brain isn't malfunctioning that badly. "He owes you respect."

Miliband stares at him incredulously and then laughs, the sound a little thin and disbelieving. "I wath-sn't aware you thought me worthy of respect, Cameron."

David stares. "When have I ever said otherwise?"

Miliband raises an eyebrow. "Would you like the abridged answer to that one?"

David sighs. "I think you deserve respect, Miliband." Maybe it's tiredness that leaves his statement so direct but colour creeps into Miliband's cheeks and David feels the heat rising in his own.

"Thank you" Miliband says quietly and David fidgets with his collar, which is suddenly a little too tight. "Yes, well-"

Miliband's watching him and the look in his eyes is softer now. "Honeth-stly, I'll keep a lookout" he says and this time it's David who says quietly "Thank you."

A fleeting expression crosses Miliband's face-something open and tender and David closes his eyes because something about that expression almost frightens him. But he lets his eyes close and his head loll against the seat, and he listens to the steady rise of a sound, a sound that lulls the scattering of his thoughts, a sound which some part of his brain grasps, as he drifts into sleep, is the rise and fall of Miliband's breathing.

* * *

Ed focuses on breathing. In and out, over and over. He can feel Cameron's leg brushing his own, Cameron's hand warm against his wrist. He doesn't know how or when Cameron's arm ended up against his own, when Cameron's breaths became slow and regular. Ed wants to glance at him, to see if he's asleep yet, but he keeps his gaze on the window at the surroundings that he can't see and tries to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.

When Ed had been watching Cameron bend forward with his cue, he'd been watching the way Cameron's eyes narrowed, the look of puzzlement on his face, as if he simply couldn't fathom the sheer obstinacy of something not immediately working for him.

The familiar words had been there-_typical, smug, entitled-_but there'd been an edge of something else there too, a feeling that almost had Ed smiling, a strange warmth rising in his chest-almost like a fondness.

Although he'd never admit it to anyone.

Ed had kept his eyes on Cameron and something about the disappointed look on Cameron's face when his cue completely missed the ball had sent such a sharp pang through Ed's chest that, biting his lip, that he'd stepped forward without thinking.

He'd have expected, a few months before, to thoroughly enjoy being able to show David Cameron how to do something that he was completely incompetent at. And instead, he'd found himself adjusting Cameron's cue, muttering an encouragement when Cameron's shots went wide, his hand on top of Cameron's, guiding his arm forward.

It had been then that Ed had become aware of Cameron's shirt. Of course, he'd always been aware of Cameron's shirt. (Not that he made a _habit _of paying attention to Cameron's shirts.) But he was suddenly rather aware that Cameron's shirt was rustling against his own.

He was rather aware of every crease in the material. He was certainly rather aware that his thumb was pressed against the button at Cameron's sleeve for a few seconds, that for a moment his finger touched the skin on the inside of Cameron's wrist. His chin was brushing Cameron's shirt. He wasn't quite as tall as Cameron ( a fact which does not bother Ed in the _slightest)_ and he'd found himself stretching to be able to guide the other man's arm properly.

When Cameron had finally made the shot, there'd been something in the blue eyes-a look of such genuine, shocked delight-something so utterly unguarded that Ed had been laughing at the simple sheer look of joy and sharply surprised at the fierce leap in his own chest that he'd quickly recognized as _pride._

Pride in _Cameron._

His arms had been moving before he knew it and he'd seen Cameron stop at the exact same moment he himself did. Their eyes had met with a strange jolt in the middle of Ed's chest and even as they'd awkwardly clapped each other on the shoulder, he'd felt himself seized by a weird sense of disappointment.

He's not too scared to acknowledge that he wanted to hug Cameron (though acknowledge it to _himself _rather than Marc, who had muttered with a grin "So, you and Cameron had enough fun?" before heading home.) But there was nothing _wrong _with that. _Nothing._

Now, he swallows hard, keeps his gaze on the window. He's glad Cameron's asleep; knows Cameron probably more than needs it; and he occasionally lets his eyes drift over to snatch a glance at Cameron, grabbing a few details at a time; the creases at the corner of Cameron's eyes when his mouth twitches in his sleep; the way Cameron's eyelids flutter a little as he dreams; the strangely pouted shape of his lips. Ed feels as though he's breaking some kind of rule by these tiny, snatched glances but he can't stop grabbing them and each time his eyes linger a little longer.

When David shifts a little in his sleep, murmuring something, Ed feels a small smile tug at his own mouth and when David moves suddenly, their hands brush for a second, disconcertingly warm and soft. Ed yanks his hand back, blood rising to his cheeks. He stares out of the window, his mind echoing with David's words-_"He owes you respect."_ The words had stuck in his brain like an itch he can't quite scratch, and they're not any easier to ignore.

Ed doesn't have any doubt that Balls likes him-on some level. They've known each other for so long, after all-from back before his flat-sharing days with Yvette. But at the same time-

Ed shakes his head, presses his forehead against the cool glass. He can remember the way Balls had occasionally rolled his eyes in their first few meetings together, even paid more attention to his Blackberry than whatever Ed was saying-then again, he hadn't been shy in doing that in front of Tony or Gordon, either. But then-and he can still hear Harriet's words _There's an election coming up..._Ed hates the thought of dismissing that warning as another political tactic, but at the same time, his mind goes back to it over and over like a tongue returning to a sore tooth. Cameron is a great tactician-it's one of the (sadly, many) political techniques of Cameron's that he admires. But then surely Cameron would be more subtle about it-Cameron enjoys bringing it up at Prime Minister's Questions too much for it to be a method he's genuinely relying on. But it's still there, the niggling concern and Ed hates it, rather more than he should.

He rubs at his own eyes, wondering just how long there is left of the journey and he's propping his head on his hand when Cameron moves next to him and he's still turning to look when Cameron mutters something that Ed can't quite make out and then, eyes still closed, Cameron's head falls against Ed's shoulder.

Ed's breath hitches in his throat, his heart suddenly a rapid drumbeat, as Cameron shifts restlessly next to him and then his head nestles even more firmly onto Ed's shoulder, his body relaxing a little, his arm now pressed firmly against Ed's own.

Ed catches his lip between his teeth, struggles to keep his breathing level. Cameron's head is on his shoulder and all Ed can think, rather helplessly, is that this is the sort of situation a Leader of the Opposition should have a manual for.

He tries to grab hold of his thoughts, even as they scatter wildly under the inescapable fact that _Cameron is sleeping on his shoulder._ He closes his eyes and Cameron moves slightly, his breath tickling Ed's neck. Cameron's head is heavy on his shoulder but not exactly uncomfortable. A strange urge to laugh rises wildly in his throat. David Cameron is asleep on his shoulder.

_Cameron_ is _asleep_ on _his shoulder._ Now, he's truly thankful that they're in a private compartment.

He has no idea what Cameron would want him to do and in a way, that's almost beside the point. Cameron's been looking like death warmed up since they got on the train. It would be rather cruel to wake him up by pushing him unceremoniously onto the seat. The warm weight of Cameron's head on Ed's shoulder isn't as annoying as Ed would have expected. (Would have. Had he ever considered this situation.) His eyes drift to the side and he finds himself taking in the way Cameron shuffles a little in his sleep, as his head moves even closer, so he's almost burrowing his way into Ed's shoulder.

Ed swallows, tries to adjust his weight as carefully as possible, so that he doesn't jerk Cameron awake. He can feel his face burning and he watches Cameron helplessly, wondering how on earth Cameron's going to react.

Slowly, he manages to breathe more steadily, even as his eyes stray again and again back to Cameron's face. He looks strangely peaceful-maybe it's something to do with the fact that the usual polished composure isn't there-Cameron's face is more open somehow, relaxed in sleep, and Ed finds his eyes drifting there for longer and longer moments, taking him in in a way he's never really able to do when Cameron's awake. His eyes skate over Cameron's receding hairline-Ed bites back a grin-to the way his eyelids flutter occasionally as he sleeps. They follow the bridge of Cameron's nose down to the slightly parted pout of his mouth. There's a dimple in Cameron's cheek that creases whenever Cameron's mouth twitches in his sleep. Ed smirks, watching Cameron, wondering what he's dreaming about.

_Probably how best to convince the public the cuts to the NHS will help sort out the deficit_, mutters the voice in his head that always curls itself around a comeback when they're standing across the despatch box. But the words are edged with something softer, something that makes Ed smile and it's nothing to do with the words themselves. He usually has to fight to get these glimpses of Cameron-these raw, unguarded moments of Cameron-and now, he's getting more than he's ever had all hurled at him at once and he can watch for as long as he wants. That alone is a jolt in his chest-he doesn't have any idea why he's watching Cameron, can imagine how bizarre it will look if Cameron opens his eyes now to find Ed watching him. Maybe it's simply the anomaly of seeing Cameron like this-so open and vulnerable and strangely endearing.

He tilts his head. Cameron nestles a little closer and Ed feels a strange heat flare in the skin above his collar where Cameron's hair brushes. He can feel himself chewing at his lip, his heart beating a little faster than usual. He feels as though he's holding something very fragile, as if it might drop down and shatter into a thousand pieces, sharp with the strangeness of it all if he moves too fast, too carelessly. Cameron is lying on his shoulder, heavy and warm and unfamiliar but Ed doesn't want to push him away. His breathing slows gradually, becomes a little more regular, but he's aware, hyper-aware of every hitch in Cameron's breathing, every tickle of hair against his neck. It's a weird vigilance, an awareness all over his body. He threads his fingers together, for something to do with his hands, which suddenly seem to have become unwieldy, too large for his body. He settles them on his thighs, taps his fingers nervously.

Gradually, by increments, he starts to relax, breathing a little more deeply, even glancing at Cameron with a smile, but Cameron sleeps, happily oblivious, against his shoulder. Ed feels his smile grow and then drags his gaze away as though Cameron could catch him any second. But he's not quite used to it yet, that feeling of Cameron's head lying against him, cheek pressed against Ed's shoulder, hair soft when it tickles his neck.

That doesn't mean he dislikes it.

It's when they're about ten minutes from the station that Ed decides that Cameron's probably caught up on his sleep and that, as awkward as this is doubtless going to be, it may be far more awkward if Cameron ends up being shaken away from Ed's shoulder by a grinning member of his protection team. So he clears his throat a little ostentatiously and when Cameron doesn't move, he mutters "Cameron."

Cameron stirs a little but doesn't respond. Ed rolls his eyes, a strange mixture of exasperation and amusement surging in his chest, and he nudges Cameron a little more confidently this time (Cameron's lying on _his _shoulder after all) and, louder, says _"Cameron."_

Cameron mutters something but his eyes don't open and Ed rolls his own, grips Cameron's shoulder and shakes it. "Cameron-David-_Cameron!"_

Cameron's eyes fly open and he stares up at Ed. "What?"

In lieu of an answer, Ed just raises an eyebrow ad it takes a moment for Cameron's eyes to wander up and then widen.

He almost leaps upright but misjudges the distance entirely, his head colliding with Ed's chin. Both of them cry out, David rubbing his head, while Ed anxiously feels his chin, aggrieved.

"Cameron, do you mind not breaking my _th-s__kull?"_

"I'm more concerned about_ my_ skull!" Cameron snaps back, almost automatically, rubbing his head. Ed stares at him. "It's _you_ who moved."

Cameron glares at him but Ed watches the blood creep up Cameron's cheeks, the blue-eyed gaze wavering a little. "Yes-yes, well, I'm-" Cameron gestures to Ed vaguely. "I-um-I didn't mean-to, you know-"

Ed feels his lips twitch at the sight of Cameron fumbling for words and Cameron glowers at him. "I am trying to _apologize_ to you, Miliband."

Ed bites his lip. "I can see that."

Cameron glares. "Well-well then, why didn't you wake me?" he bursts out, apparently latching onto the first barb that comes to mind and Ed raises an eyebrow. "And you wonder why this country accuses you of not accepting responsibility."

Cameron glares at him, the words already spluttering out. "Well-well, you told me to go to sleep! You-why did you tell me if you didn't want me to?"

Ed stares at him and then says quietly "Who thaid I didn't want you to?"

The words hang in the air between them and Ed, hearing them, feels his sentences scramble together in his mouth as he tries to backtrack. "I mean-I can't-I mean-not-I mean, not that it made a difference to me-I mean-I-I meant that it didn't bother me" he manages. "I didn't-um-mind."

"Oh. Oh-well-" Cameron's cheeks are flushed and Ed is suddenly finding it hard to meet his gaze.

"I never said I minded" he says, more to the floor than to Cameron. "I-you needed to sleep, Cameron."

The name comes out far more softly than usual and Ed sees a fleeting expression cross Cameron's face that he can't quite grab onto. It's gone too quickly and Cameron says, a little awkwardly, "Th-thank you."

Ed nods and then busies himself gathering his things together. Cameron does the same and Ed feels a rush of relief that he left waking Cameron as long as he possibly could.

It isn't until the train's slowing and Ed takes a step towards the compartment door that Cameron's hand finds his shoulder. "Ed-" Cameron's standing a little closer than usual and Ed can smell his aftershave and the scent of his hair and he swallows hard at the fact he can feel Cameron's body heat.

The only consolation to all this is that Cameron's looking as awkward as he feels. "I-well-th-thank you." Cameron's hand is still on his shoulder and he seems to realise it at the exact same moment that Ed does. He drops his hand immediately, gives Ed an awkward pat on the arm. Ed swallows. "You're welcome" he says, glad his voice remains steady.

David nods again and Ed's rather glad that the door opens then and they find themselves facing some of Cameron's advisors, and he tells himself it's just because he needs to check how the Thornberry statement's gone down.

* * *

David's always been able to renew himself with a quick nap. But, rarely has it taken place in front of Ed Miliband.

It's certainly never taken place on Ed Miliband's _shoulder._

He remembers vaguely shifting a little in his sleep, feeling someone move, and burrowing in a little closer without thinking about it, vaguely aware of the faint scent of aftershave that wasn't his own, but too tired to open his eyes.

Even when he'd heard Miliband's voice (he'd know Miliband's voice anywhere), he'd kept his eyes shut, too comfortable to move, aware that Miliband was close, somehow, but...David isn't sure why he hadn't wanted to move.

But now, he's stepping off a train with Miliband at his side, David finds himself glancing quickly at Miliband, taking in the flush of the other man's cheeks as he laughs at his own aides, the way his eyes dart to David's and the second he sees David watching, glancing away again.

He wonders if it had been the other way round, whether he would have let Miliband sleep on his shoulder. He likes to think he would have. He pictures Miliband's dark head nestling against his collar, eyelashes brushing his cheeks, listening to him breathe.

David blinks and shakes his head a little but with the clicking shutters of the cameras, he doesn't have time to think, as he and Miliband both head to their cars.

Miliband looks up at him and David swallows. "I hope your shoulder's all right" he says, with an attempt at a laugh. Miliband's mouth twitches. "You're not that strong, Cameron" he says, softly and something about his voice makes David shiver a little, even though he's not sure why.

He tries for a grin. "I'm trying to thank you, Miliband."

Miliband just smiles and something about the look brings the grin back to David's own mouth. "You've already done that, Cameron." Miliband arches an eyebrow and his sleeve brushes David's as he raises his hand. David takes it, feels his lips twitch. "I did, didn't I?"

Miliband tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed quizzically. "I've got to say, Cameron, I really _am_ contherned for the country if your memory's _that_ poor."

David rolls his eyes as Miliband laughs. David squeezes his hand before he realises what he's doing and Miliband's eyes widen for a moment, before he tentatively squeezes back.

They drop hands a few moments later, both of them avoiding one another's eyes and it's David who says "Well...have a good evening, Miliband."

Miliband gives him the same smile again. "You too, Cameron."

Their hands both hover for a moment as if they want to reach out again but neither does, and David raises a hand in an awkward wave which he's fairly sure he sees Miliband snigger at. (Which is hardly fair-_Miliband's _supposed to be the awkward one, after all.) But it isn't until he's in the car that his phone vibrates and he glances at it as they pull onto the motorway.

** _Get some sleep, Cameron._ **

David rolls his eyes.

_You, too._

** _Thank you. :)_ **

David swallows hard and stares at the screen for a moment.

_You're welcome. Sleep well.:)_

** _You too. Goodnight, Cameron. :)_ **

_Goodnight, Miliband. :)_

David stares at the phone and shakes his head. He lets the smile tug at his mouth and tries not to wonder about the aching in his chest, that somehow isn't painful at all.

* * *

_Playlist_

_Never Had Nobody Like You-M.Ward -"I saw the dark side of the moon/And the stars in the sky, they never caught my eye/Cause I ain't never had nobody like you...I watched my own habits die and it's painful/sometimes it's painful in the light of the truth/but you can be faster than light/I'd like to thank you tonight/Honey, I ain't never had nobody like you/I ain't never had nobody like you"-this song was actually suggested to me by someone, who pointed out how very Camerband-ish it is._

_School Friends-Now, Now-"You have a girlfriend, but she's not your girlfriend/She's just your friend for the night/You'll have a new one in the morning...You have a girlfriend but she's not your girlfriend/You just like her where she's at/And you'll thank her for the things she bought you/Then you'll go on your way...And the next day when you chase the other girl/She'll remember all the things you said to her"_

_Everything Has Changed-Taylor Swift, featuring Ed Sheeran-"I just want to know you better, know you better, know you better now"_

_Steal His Heart-Emily and the Woods-"I've always been scared/Scared of the sea/I'll give you some string"_

_Kids In The Basement-Samantha Savage Smith-"You saw me showing off/I guess you saw the best of/Or maybe saw the worst of/Me fitting in this tight glove....Us kids in the basement/Fighting what we're facing"_

_Dust To Dust-The Civil Wars_ _-"_ _All your acting, your thin disguise/All your perfectly delivered lines/They don't fool me/You've been lonely too long"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed's interview with Myleene Klass:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uu4Gfaqe_Zk  
The PMQs depicted in this chapter:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17P5k0js5_0  
https://bit.ly/39CrxjJ  
https://bit.ly/2TCdUvt  
Ed had forced one of his Shadow Cabinet, Emily Thornberry, to resign over an offensive tweet:  
https://bit.ly/3350uLB  
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30142579  
https://bit.ly/39NHNi5  
The article Ed's working on is one explaining the decision:https://bit.ly/3350Fqf  
Marc was Ed's speechwriter and a friend since Oxford:https://bit.ly/2TRZNAN  
The Rochester and Strood by-election took place on 20 November, after a Tory MP defected to UKIP. UKIP won but the seat was reclaimed by the Tories in the 2015 election. David wasn't happy with him, as the above quotes show, to put it mildly-and nor were his ministers: https://bbc.in/3cGbPpE  
https://bbc.in/3cJQSdp  
http://dailym.ai/2W9JuT1  
https://bit.ly/338EteD  
The select committee reference:https://bbc.in/2TAq1sC  
The David this David mentions George getting on with is David Laws, as referenced in the quote.  
David was sent to boarding school at the age of seven and struggled with it:http://dailym.ai/38ygMNX  
http://dailym.ai/3352F1J  
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-cameron-book-the-truth-about-me-cannabis-and-eton-r3lm30r7m  
As a child, he did have a rivalry with his elder brother Alex:http://dailym.ai/3cHUZ9S  
https://bit.ly/2Iu6kwm  
Ed loves pool:https://bit.ly/2Q1kQzO  
https://bit.ly/2Iz3Lco  
The story about Daniel and the train is true:https://bit.ly/2wGhWK3  
You can see Justine stating that she learnt Daniel likes trains from Zia here:https://bit.ly/2TC7JHK  
Justine did sometimes leave it to others to take the children to the doctor, etc.: https://bit.ly/338eBjg  
David's Enoch Powell trick:https://bbc.in/2IDK8zP  
The anecdote of Ed B patronising Ed M in meetings with his Blackberry is true:http://dailym.ai/338sHAX  
Ed did often try to imitate his brother growing up: http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/newsnight/michaelcrick/2010/09/ralph_miliband_urged_ed_not_fo.html  
David did, famously, appear in a One Direction music video for Comic Relief: https://bbc.in/2wKUbAp


	8. An Odyssey Of Over-Population, Prospective Prevarications And The Great Debate Of Music Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there is an overcrowded Christmas party, and George tries not to think about the future while Lynton has no choice in the matter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me anything you like about it or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) . If you can't read any of the articles and want to, let me know.  
Reference quotes here refer to the Johnson siblings' competitiveness, Nick and Michael's falling out, George being booed at the Paralympics and a bit more George.  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_ **"** _ _**Even in those days, Michael stood out"** he says, adding: **"I remember the words of one of my colleagues at the time: "That boy is a future leader of the Conservative Party.""**_

_The mention of the Conservative Party is worth noting, as up to that point in Gove's life the Labour Party had held sway over his beliefs. Inspired by the works of George Orwell, Gove was a typical teenage socialist, and in 1983 he became a fully paid-up member of Labour's Aberdeen North constituency branch, where the local MP was the anti-apartheid campaigner Robert Hughes. Labour was at that time led by Michael Foot, making the party the most left-wing it had been in its history-meaning the young Michael Gove would have been quite at home in the company of "Corbynistas." The future Conservative leadership contender not only knocked on doors on behalf of Labour in the 1983 general election, he also represented them in his school's mock vote. Alas, Gove was unable to buck the national trend, and he finished bottom of the ballot.-Michael Gove: A Man In A Hurry, Owen Bennett_

_In the new Conservative constellation, Gove stood out not only because of his talent, but because he was not from a privileged English background. Born in Edinburgh in August 1967, and named Graham, he was adopted four months later by a couple in Aberdeen, where his adoptive father ran a fish-processing business. Renamed Michael Gove, he attended a state primary school and then won a scholarship to Robert Gordon's School in Aberdeen. At Oxford, he read English was President of the Union (Hilary Term, 1988), two years after Boris Johnson (Trinity Term, 1986). Returning to a Union debate years later, Gove was surprised to be offered a lift back to London by Mick Jagger **"in the boot."**_ _ Initially, Gove's wit and eloquence led him to a career in journalism and broadcasting. As a trainee reporter at the Press and Journal in Aberdeen, he had joined a strike for several months, earning him the semi-ironic nickname **"Red Mike."...**_ _Biography and background were central to his distinctive political significance. To adapt Blair's familiar line about why he had joined Labour, Gove had not been born into the Conservative Party; he had chosen it. For cradle Tories, Conservatism was like membership of the Church of England or a passport; it came with the birth certificate. But Gove had thought about it. He understood what it was like to be a voter, weighing up his options. Like (Steve) Hilton, he was a scholarship boy who had risen via university to the commanding heights of his profession. He was socially amphibious, not remotely chippy among the trustafarians of west London, but proud of his Aberdonian origins. There were no toe-curling attempts to make him mimic what spin doctors imagine to be the authentic voice of the proletarian milieu: the telltale guttural Mockney into which Blair and even Osborne sometimes lapsed. It was his insights, as well as his political brain and determination, that made Gove so essential to Cameron. Almost 60 per cent of those entitled to attend Cameron's Cabinet meetings had been privately educated, soaring above the national average of 6.5 per cent. Gove was among them. But, for his family, a place at a top independent school had been a mark of aspiration rather than the default position of an elite. He was also that near-oxymoron-a Scottish Conservative-who understood what it was like to be going against the grain.-In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D'Ancona_

_As expected, Ed received a standing ovation from the party's grassroots for his first set-piece as party leader. He exited the hall to another indie hit, Kings of Leon's "Use Somebody", stopping off to greet Gillian Duffy, the lady at the centre of the "Bigotgate" row, who had been strategically placed in his route by his aides.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_With his father's dynastic hopes resting on him, Boris soon scooped up academic prizes like rosettes at a gymkhana but he himself admits probably the single most galvanising event of his life-and the incident to install the formidable driving ambition we know today-was when Rachel, his younger sister by 15 months, learned to read before him. To this day, he can still feel the agony of her triumph. And the siblings acknowledge how much they spur each other on. **"At my 40th, he made a speech saying something like unless I had been born a year after him, he would never have done anything because by nature he is quite slug-like and contented"** says Rachel. "**The pushiness, the forwardness, the cheekiness, Rachel just wanted to get on" recalls her long-term boyfriend at Oxford, Sebastian Shakespeare. "And always, always, she is competitive with Boris."**_

_With Stanley, the emphasis during those early years was placed on encouraging such competitive activity, whether it be running, jumping, eating the hottest mince pies at Christmas or possessing the blondest hair. If Boris, as the eldest, did not secure his rightful place by winning, he would erupt in anger. He once took his frustration out on a wall after losing a point to Rachel at table tennis, kicking it and breaking a toe in the process. To this day, he will invest an almost indecent ruthlessness into what is supposed to be an enjoyable game of what he calls **"whiff whaff"** and frequently seeks to assert his superiority over employees or visitors by thrashing them in games of ping-pong over the Mayoral desk at City Hall. Of course this was a boy whose earliest recorded ambition was to be **"world king."** His ferocious passion for supremacy in any contest has never waned, but appreciating the dangers of appearing over-ambitious in a self-deprecating country like Britain, he has become better at concealing it._

_**"Boris has always been very competitive, but that's what they teach you when you go to a very good school-to be the best"** explains Stanley. **"The children were competitive with each other-good, healthy sibling rivalry is what I would call it." Others** might deem this ceaseless struggle for domination, which makes the Johnsons not exactly relaxing company, more of a blood sport. Coming second would never do, it was emphatically **not** about merely taking part. **"There were always high expectations of all the kids"** explains a close friend. **"They are a family where you definitely felt it was a culture, not put into words maybe, but an awareness of themselves as interesting people going to do big things." I**ndeed, like a bunch of hyper-active boy scouts, the Johnsons are inveterate badge wearers, prize-baggers and point-scorers. Sebastian Shakespeare recalls visiting Nethercote (the Johnson family home) in the holidays: **"Mealtimes usually meant Stanley holding forth and him and Boris powering against each other. It was alpha males constantly sparring, with everyone else looking on. The other younger siblings would occasionally join in from the sidelines-the hierarchy was clear."** This rivalry sometimes gave rise to** "really violent fighting",** which once saw younger brother Leo accidentally shooting Boris in the stomach with an air gun. Leo was supposed to have been shooting tin cans but had seen:** "....a richer target nearby. Fortunately (Boris) survived (although) since it happened he has always been very wary of me"** he said. The incident is treated with the same hilarity as other Johnsonian **"antics"**, even though Boris had to be rushed to hospital for emergency treatment. Later he even came to blows with Rachel after an argument over the identity of the lead singer of the Clash which got out of hand.-Just Boris: A Tale Of Blond Ambition, Sonia Purnell_

_But to interpret such behaviour as a sign of hostility between Boris and his siblings is to misunderstand the Johnsons. There is tension, yes, but little division among them. Constantly moving house meant it was nigh on impossible to form meaningful relationships with anyone else their own age, had they been urged to do so. In fact, seeking playmates outside the family who might not strive for such peaks of achievement was not encouraged. Throughout much of their childhood, bar the odd holiday with another suitably high-flying family, they were largely left to amuse themselves and they rarely spent time with other children. "I remember Al had one friend, Carl, and he once went to Carl's house but I think that was it" Rachel remembers. "We never, ever went to play with other children. We didn't need friends." Location and local chums could not provide a sense of being rooted and so close family filled the gap, which serves to explain two key facets of Boris's life. The first is the extraordinary clannishness of the Johnsons, very much an "all for one, one for all" institution. Cross one of them and the others will close ranks. Marrying into the clan, like hitching up to a Royal, is not for the faint-hearted. Only the strongest and most independent survive.-Just Boris: A Tale Of Blond Ambition, Sonia Purnell_

_It might be thought that in this remote spot, playing with his siblings rather than with other children, he would be sheltered from competitive pressure, but the Johnsons knew how to make their own competition. His grandmother would ask Rachel, a precocious four-year-old, to sit at the kitchen table and read the Times leader, and would tell her how well she had read it. This praise for his sister, who was just over a year younger than him, drove Boris mad with rage. Another favourite family story has Boris playing table tennis with Rachel, losing a point to her during the knock-up, and kicking the wall so hard he broke his toe. He is also supposed, when playing snooker with her, to have got so angry that he ripped the cloth and broke the cue, after she got a fluky shot in. Julia Johnson, one of Stanley's two children by his second wife Jenny, has described a Johnson upbringing:_

** _"My father has six children, of which I am the last but one, and as long as I can remember there have been cut-throat mealtime quizzes, fearsome ping-pong matches, height, weight and blondness contests, and, of course, academic rivalry of mind-numbing magnitude. When my brother Jo gained a First from Oxford, Rachel rang Boris to tell him the "terrible news." If I came second in Latin, my father would instantly demand: "Who came first?" It became a standard catchphrase in our household and a vigorous deterrent against being anything but top."_ **

_According to Julia,** "If anyone is coming top in the Johnson league table, it must be the one my father refers to as: "Boris, that great prodigious tree in the rainforest, in the shade of which the smaller trees must either perish or struggle to find their own place in the sun.""** The comparison is comic, but also slightly chilling. We find ourselves watching a struggle for the survival of the fittest, though one should add that they all proved fit, with five of them going to Oxford while Julia herself went to Cambridge....Boris's sister Rachel told Julia: **"There was always tremendous competition to climb trees higher, or learn to read first. I think the last time I beat Boris at anything was when I won the Scottish dancing prize at the age of twelve. It's been a rapid ascent for him ever since. He planted his flag first on the summit of so many Mount Olympuses that we younger siblings have to content ourselves in tooling quietly around the foothills of our own careers."** The expression **"tooling quietly around"** is a ridiculous way for Rachel to refer to her own immensely energetic attempts to become a top author. Boris himself told Julia: "**As the oldest, I've always known my position was basically unchallengeable. It is the fixed point about which my cosmos is organised. I smile indulgently on everybody else's attempts to compete with me. Bring it on, I say."**-Boris: The Adventures Of Boris Johnson, Andrew Gimson_

_Towards the end of the month, just before Christmas, Nick Clegg and Michael Gove finally met to see if they could settle their differences. The two men came together in Nick Clegg's office in Dover House. This was one, rare, occasion when private secretaries were not allowed inside the room. The opening atmosphere was strained. Nick Clegg came straight to the point: **"Listen, Michael, we can be at each other's throats twenty-four hours a day, if you like. I don't mind that-our voters absolutely hate you. I can see that from the polls. In different ways, we have both become Marmite politicians."**_

_Nick made clear his present disdain for the Education Secretary and his team, adding: **"I believe that it was your adviser who dragged my wife through the mud over BookTrust..."**_

_Michael Gove interrupted: **"I think I know what happened on that. I can assure you that it had absolutely nothing to do with me."**_

_**"I said your adviser"** responded the Lib Dem leader. **"You are responsible for your adviser. How would you feel if my office attacked your wife?"**_

_The Deputy Prime Minister then listed other areas of frustration, including over free school meals, the Heywood Review of 16-24 year old provision, and the raid on the basic need budget to fund more free schools. He also said that he thought the Education Secretary should be more pragmatic over the need for a "**middle tier"** to hold failing schools to account._

_Michael Gove then responded: "**Nick, I am sorry-genuinely sorry-that we have had these issues in the media. You may want to know that Dominic Cummings, my main adviser, is leaving. I hope that will help lower the temperature. And I understand that it is frustrating for you that there are policy areas where we don't see eye to eye-like careers education and the middle tier. But I think I am entitled to be a little bruised as well. When I was abroad in October, you launched a direct attack on my policies, including on free schools. And I am frankly hurt at the way you and your party are demonising me. You are presenting me as some swivel-eyed ideologue, some sort of mad, profit-obsessed privatiser. That isn't fair. On free school meals, we are much closer than you think. I am not just a supporter of this policy, but I think I was one of the first in government to suggest it. It is true that Dom Cummings is not a big fan, but he will be leaving soon."** The meeting was a long one. At the end of it, it was hoped that better relations might result between the two men and their advisers.-Coalition: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government 2010-2015, David Laws_

_The **"Peace Now"** meeting between Nick Clegg and Michael Gove apparently went ahead at midday, but I didn't get any read-out until well into the afternoon. When I got back to my office, I received separate summaries of the meeting from both Nick's office and Michael's. There were no officials present, so the accounts relied upon the memories of the participants. To my amazement, these accounts were pretty similar. The email from Julian Astle read as follows:_

_**David, Nick gave me a read-out from his meeting with Michael. A lot of it was in getting-off-my-chest territory that was probably quite helpful. Nick began by running through the charge sheet, at the top of which was the Book Trust thing which he said he knew for a fact came from MG's office. He challenged MG to think how he would have felt if the DPMO had done the same to Mrs Gove. Nick also objected to the negative briefing around the free school meal announcement that MG's office had conducted. He said that he felt a lot of the problems we were experiencing stemmed from MG's dogmatic view of school autonomy and his decision to defend it no matter what. He felt this was leading to some bizarre policy position, such as refusing to consider how schools might play a bigger role in preparing pupils for the life of work (careers advice and guidance.) MG then had his turn. Said he felt sore about Nick's speech on free schools/QTS etc., but more generally sore about the way that Nick Clegg and the Lib Dems demonise him in the eyes of teachers and parents and present him as a swivel-eyed ideologue and red in tooth and claw privatiser! Nick said he was struck by how stung by this charge Michael Gove seemed. Nick apologised for the way the speech landed and reassured him that he wasn't against schools reform...He said he was worried, though, about the decision to take £400 million from basic needs for free schools. Michael then suggested that Nick write to him on this and the other policy issues he had concerns about..**The DPM's conclusion was "**an emotionally cathartic and intellectually clarifying meeting that should result in a more constructive period of engagement with a more accommodating Education Secretary."**_

_Hmmm. We shall see.-"17th December 2013" The Coalition Diaries: 2012-2015, David Laws_

_Osborne was especially clear about the implications for the next Government-and for himself. The kitchen suppers he held at his west London home were his own salon, gatherings at which guests included Robert Zoellick, the president of the World Bank, Jeffrey Sachs, the international development guru, James Murdoch and other senior media figures. At one such dinner in 2009, he said: **"If I'm not the most unpopular Chancellor ever in six months, I'll have failed."...**As the Coalition faltered in the mire of the "omnishambles", the supposedly shambolic Mayor (Boris Johnson) was having the time of his life. George Osborne was booed by the 80,000-strong crowd as he awarded medals at the Paralympic Games, his rictus the best he could muster in the circumstances. On another visit to the Olympic Park in Stratford, as the Chancellor sat down to eat some food, he was asked by one of the young "Games Makers": **"So, George-is that your austerity dinner?"**-In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D'Ancona_

_George is asked by Sebastian Coe to hand out a medal at the Paralympic Games, but he is booed by the crowds at the park. I see it happen on television and feel horribly protective of him. Even my children are upset. I am cross with George's team for allowing him to give out the medal in the first place. Liz Sugg has been far more cautious with David. Sensing the risk of an unpredictable crowd, she has steered him away from the main stadium. But George accepts full responsibility.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_Osborne might have enjoyed it (the Olympics) all from a distance had an invitation not arrived from an old friend that summer. Seb Coe, with whom he had worked for William Hague more than a decade earlier, had fronted seven years of preparation for London 2012. He asked the Chancellor to present medals at the Paralympic Games on 3 September. Under no illusions about his unpopularity with the public, Osborne queried whether this was really such a good idea but ultimately went along in the hope that some brief pleasantries at the podium could not go very wrong. When he arrived at the Olympic Stadium on the night, he already knew that hope was fanciful. Obscure dignitaries were already drawing scornful murmurs from the crowd during the medal ceremonies, so a hated politician in charge of a failing economy stood no chance. The official programme had him down to do the honours for the Men's T38 400m race. Pulling out would itself cause a scene. The ceremony comes around, Osborne is introduced by the public address system and the boos commence. He laughs hesitantly but the din does not go away. By the time he is slinging circles of gold, silver and bronze around athletes' necks, the better part of 60,000 people are jeering him. He has faced a wall of noise at the despatch box, but he has never been exposed like this. The scene is beamed to millions and threatens to become a cultural reference point, like Michael Portillo's humiliation at the hands of Enfield's voters on election night in 1997._

_Osborne felt two emotions as he left the stadium that night, and neither was personal hurt. He was angry with himself for going ahead with an idea that he knew could end ignominiously, and anxious about his family, who were watching from the sidelines. He is personally indifferent to unpopularity-to an extent that is foolhardy in a frontline politician, as he would soon accept-and sometimes wears it as an Olympic medal of his own, a proof of the largeness and contentiousness of the decisions he makes as Chancellor.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_The motivation behind Osborne's elusiveness is as much self-awareness as self-interest, though. He knows his limitations as a public personality; the average voter's affection for the government hardly soars when this baronet's son turns up on television with his brittle voice and icy mien. He is neither troubled by this-**"I will never be a man of the people",** he once told a colleague, as breezily as if he were giving the time of day-nor inclined to do very much about it. One friend suspects that he takes a perverse, Mandelsonian delight in playing the pantomime villain. Certainly, unlike Brown, he will never embarrass himself with desperate pretences at ordinariness. There have been no compromises in his family life, with its upmarket holidays and expensive schools.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_**"He (George) doesn't have the slightest interest in being Prime Minister" p**ostulates a minister and friend..**"David enjoys the exercise of symbolic power, rather than real power, whereas George is the opposite. Chancellor is the perfect job for him. He is a back-room boy who has managed to become front line while maintaining the back room air of wheeling and dealing. He could never do that as PM."** If this seems too categorical, as it probably is, then at least it offers an account for some of Osborne's behaviour. For someone supposedly mono-maniacal in his pursuit of the premiership, he is stunningly insouciant about holidaying lavishly, basking in social exclusiveness and generally shunning even token gestures at populism. Seen from a certain angle, all his empire-building might actually be defensive in design. Osborne rose to power with the patronage of a few leaders-Hague, Howard, Cameron himself-but he knows that he can only survive there with a deeper, wider base of support. His wounding year between the autumn of 2007, when he flailed after Northern Rock's demise, and the autumn of 2008, when scandal almost claimed his career, taught him the hazards of aloofness. He has painstakingly nurtured relationships ever since. "**Dance with the ones who brung you" h**e advised a young aide at his fortieth birthday party, gesturing at the secretaries, researchers, advisers, dogsbodies, editors, grandees, Cabinet members, tycoons, intimate friends and half-forgotten acquaintances revelling in the grounds of his grace-and-favour residence Dorneywood, all of whom had played some part in his ascent, all of whom he was anxious to thank.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_An awkward moment comes when Cameron is booed, albeit drowned out by applause from the crowds, whilst presenting Ellie Simmonds with her second gold swimming medal of the Paralympic games; **"the PM loved giving her the medal and the boos weren't noticeable in the room so he didn't hear them"** explains a close aide. It pales into insignificance beside the treatment of Osborne, who is roundly booed presenting medals to the winners of the men's 400 metres at the Paralympics. When Seb Coe had phoned to ask him to ask if he would be willing to present a medal at the Paralympics, he wondered about the wisdom of doing so.**"Are you sure?"** he asked. Osborne has taken his children to several Olympic and Paralympic events, and has an intimation of impending disaster as the time for him to present the medals approaches: **"I thought I can't get out of this. I am slated to present a medal. But I knew it was going to be a disaster the moment I walked out."** He laughs it off at the time, saying it was **"not surprising"** that the chancellor will be unpopular at a time of austerity, but afterwards describes it as **"a pretty unpleasant experience."** His children are watching him, and for the first time perhaps, they realise the full enormity of the job their father does. For all his self-confidence and high intelligence, Osborne is a more sensitive and vulnerable figure than he appears.-Cameron At Ten: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

* * *

Matt: **The image I always think of...and I really felt for you at the time, even though I disagreed with a lot of what you were doing was when you were at the Paralympics in 2012-I mean, did you-and the stadium boos and it's just such an awful thing to watch. I mean, did you go into that stadium thinking "I think, when they call my name out, I might get a bit of gip" or was it a total surprise?**

George: **Erm-no, I'd-er-so, some context, we'd had the Olympics, I'd been to quite a lot of the Olympic events, I'd gone to the Paralympics-er-I had young children at the time, I'd taken them to some Olympic events, I took them to the Paralympics. And, er-I-a friend of mine, because I worked with him for years, was a guy, was Seb Coe, who'd organised the whole thing. And he phoned up and said "You should really present this Paralympic medal, I think it'd be great, and-"-you know-"the government's done all these things, so-"-you know-and so the first rule of politics is trust your instincts.**

Matt: **Yeah.**

George: **Like most things in life. And I was like, "That's not a good idea, Seb." And he said "No, no, no, it's a really good idea." Then, when I got there, the-er-chief executive of Sainsbury's was presenting a medal and he got sort of mildly booed-**

(Everyone laughs)

George:**-and I was like "Oh, _fuck! _This is like-" and I should have then-again, the lesson two, trust your instincts-I should have, I said "Maybe I should just pull out of this thing" and they said "No, no, no, it'll be fine." Erm-and then I went out, and actually, the-my real-do you know, I'm not-you'll think I'm making this up, but it's not, it, it's true-my first-my real thought was-my kids were, like, there and-**

Matt:** Yeah.**

George:**-right on the sides, they were on the sort of touchline kind of thing, I think, for-they'd been, for the presenting of the medal, been allowed to stand in the-erm-stadium and they were really excited, I can't remember exactly how old they were, but they were kind of eleven and nine, you know, they were pretty young. And, erm-er-the other person I felt sorry for was the guy I was giving the medal to.**

(Everyone laughs)

Matt: **He was booing!**

(Everyone laughs

George: **He was, like, "Keep going"-but he thought they were booing him!**

Matt: **But I remember you kind of laughing it off-**

George: **Well, I had to-well, what are you supposed to do?**

Matt: **Well, I suppose it-**

George: **Mind you, I don't-when I'm at-I'm a Chelsea season ticket holder, I don't now-I don't engage in the booing when one of the players screws up on the pitch! (laughing) But-erm-I think it was-I knew there was gonna, there was always gonna be a moment when-er-it's the Chancellor of the Exchequer, they're not supposed to be, like, super-popular figures, and I was doing, like unpopular things. But we got re-elected, so, you know.**

[ _George Osborne, speaking about being booed at the Paralympics on Matt Forde's Political Party Podcast in 2019 ](https://player.fm/series/the-political-party/show-95-george-osborne-live)

* * *

_I live in my family, who think they were born to rule over rich and hideous cities, built of stones and mist.-Albert Camus_

_"Christine's wise, mischievous eyes that seemed to know it all and mock it all-except they were also the kind of eyes that you could sink into. There was a deeper, shadowy softness to them that Nicola had never noticed before."-The Dawning, Megan Taylor_

_"It makes it very interesting, heightens things. I think as soon as something can't be said, it becomes dangerous."-James McAvoy, on Atonement (2007)_

* * *

_Miliband, the crowd isn't that large. Nor are you that small. I should be able to see you fairly easily._

** _You might want to accomplish that task fairly soon. Before I'm massacred by irate Tories._ **

_They're not that bad, Miliband._

** _No, they're not._ **

_It's the Lib Dems you have to worry about._

** _Nick has actually been extremely welcoming._ **

_How much of the punch has he had?_

** _A fair amount._ **

_Thank God work's over for the day._

** _Where have those Rose Garden days gone, Cameron?_ **

_I know you're unfamiliar with time passing, Miliband._

** _This from the man who consistently refers to a government which hasn't been in power for nearly five years. And this isn't bringing you any closer to finding me._ **

_Stay where you are. I'll be there in a moment._

** _How exactly will you achieve that, Cameron?_ **

_I have my ways._

David smirks as he pockets his phone. He can picture Miliband rolling his eyes, the exact expression that'll be creeping onto his face, and it makes him grin as he taps an entirely different Ed on the shoulder.

"Haven't seen our Leader of the Opposition anywhere, have you?"

Ed Llewellyn laughs and claps David on the shoulder. "Usually, I'd say you must have been drinking, Dave."

David rolls his eyes. "I think Craig would prefer that."

Craig had almost choked when David had mentioned, as an aside, that Miliband might drop into the Downing Street Christmas Party that afternoon.

_"Miliband?"_ he'd almost shrieked, much to Lynton's amusement. _"Here?"_

David had rolled his eyes. "You know it's not unheard of for members of the Opposition to attend the Downing Street Christmas Party?"

Craig had returned the eye-roll. "I know it's not _unheard of. _But it's still _noticeable."_

"I don't really see why" Lynton had remarked, and as usual, all eyes had turned to him. "It's only us here."

Craig arched an eyebrow. "You really think Robinson won't be there?"

"He's the _Political Editor_, Craig. Not a tabloid reporter."

"Yeah, well, Miliband had interviews with him last month, remember, so just be careful-"

But Lynton had been casting glances at David out of the corner of his eye and when David returned the look, widening his eyes meaningfully, Lynton had cleared his throat. "Well....you might be spending less time with him in the New Year. With election campaigns beginning in earnest around then-" Lynton had come as close to a wince as Lynton ever got. "It might be...awkward to still be spending so much time together."

David had kept his voice level, struggling to ignore the sudden whisper of worry niggling in his chest. "We know where to draw the line between personal and political" he'd said casually. "Don't ask me to stop talking to Nick, though. I'm planning to step back and hand him complete power."

Craig's eyes had bulged. There'd been an audible thud as Lynton's pen fell from his hand to the carpet. They'd both stared at David, jaws gaping, for several interminably long seconds before David had felt his mouth break into the laughter that had been swelling in his throat.

Lynton had given him a glare that would have shrivelled Rasputin while Craig had let out a slightly hysterical laugh and had then pointed at him accusingly. "Don't you dare ever do that again."

"I can't promise" David had managed through his own gales of laughter and Craig had shaken his head. "Bloody Etonian sadism" he'd managed, as the door was pushed open and the rest of the Quad had stepped in. Nick had grinned, hand brushing David's elbow.

"Too true" he'd said, drawing a glower from David, even as he basked in George and Danny's laughter, trying to push away Lynton's words, thundering in his ears, tried to pretend that this was the Quad he'd be working with for a time that stretched out and out into the distance, rather than months that would all too soon dwindle away into weeks and days and hours, even if David grasped at the seconds.

Now, looking at this Ed, he sighs, even as Michael appears at his side, glass almost empty, eyes surprisingly bright. "That might be Nick more than me."

"Who invited him or who's been drinking?"

"The latter." David grins at Michael, who returns the look. "Seen Miliband at all?"

Michael cocks his head. "He was just with Nick-they were having a talk."

David notices the way Michael's smile dims a little at the mention of Nick and winces inwardly. He knows Michael doesn't dislike Nick-not personally, anyway. But he's all too aware of the many and varied disagreements that have raged between the two of them during the last couple of years of their partnership-disagreements that have never quite reached him-and-Miliband levels, but are too often present, an undeniable whisper under the conversation, like the constant drip of a tap in the corner that everyone tries to ignore.

But he thanks Michael and after establishing that Boris is being his usual Boris self, heads off to locate Nick and Miliband.

He has to admit, it's always surprised him that Michael and Nick don't agree moe-Michael's family being die-hard Labour supporters, he's always assumed that even though Michael was far from a Liberal, he might have a little more sympathy with Nick's point of view. But then maybe it's not Michael's sympathy that's the problem.

He shakes the thought away as his eyes fall on Nick and Miliband, standing, heads close together in a corner. For a moment, he stands there, just watching them-Nick with that easy smile, the laugh that creases at the corners of his eyes. Nick, and this is the last Christmas in Downing Street that they may have. David stares at him, his head tilted back, laughing, and he wants to grab this moment, squeeze it into a photograph that he can take out and look at again, even when years have passed and all the colours of tonight have long since faded.

He watches Miliband next to him and tries to picture Nick working with Miliband. Miliband working with Nick.

Something about the thought is sharp, a stab of anger-bypassing annoyance,_ anger_-that makes David's heart quicken.

It's not anger towards either of _them,_ exactly. It's just _there_, so sudden that David has to close his eyes and collect his thoughts, like a punch in the ribs.

He knows they've got an election coming up. He knows-but it feels-_wrong._

They-it's stupid and childish, but they feel like_...._

They're _his _to argue with. _His_ to debate with.

And that's-

David doesn't have time to think about it before Nick and Miliband begin waving at him-and not just him.

"Fantastic party, Dave." David feels the grin creep to his mouth, as he turns to see Boris at his side, accompanied by a glass of wine. "Been meaning to tell you that this wine is an oenological triumph-could conceivably have been coaxed fresh from the _grape."_ Boris drains the glass in one gulp as Nick and Miliband reach them. "Remarkable-hello, Nick. And how is the no-broken-promises autocue going, that sort of-"

Nick bursts out laughing while Miliband arches an eyebrow. "See where you get your wit, Cameron."

David nudges him. "Enjoying your foray into the danger zone?" he mutters and Boris beams, turning happily to Miliband. "You're becoming a metaphor" he informs him with a nod. "For exploring unknown realms. You're really rather strikingly similar to a Labourite version of Captain Oates-striding courageously into the belly of the proverbial right-wing beast, like-"

"I might point out-" comes a voice from over David's shoulder. David bites back a grin.

Jo Johnson is standing behind them, beaming at his elder brother who looks thoroughly miffed at being interrupted before the completion of his elaborate metaphor. "I might point out" he says, with a clap to Boris' shoulder, who ducks away with an expression remarkably like a pout. "Oates was striding out into a storm, not into a party. No offence, of course" he adds, with a nod to Miliband. As David has learnt over the years, even when engaged in ripping etymological lumps out of each other, the Johnson brothers are nothing if not courteous to others.

Miliband shrugs but Boris is already swelling indignantly. "Once again, Joseph, you display your typically pedantic grasp of metaphor and literality-"

Nick grins, eyes flickering between the two brothers. David rolls his own, having seen the whole spectacle on far too many occasions. Miliband, on the other hand, is smirking almost like a schoolboy, dark eyes glittering as he glances from one to the other.

Jo rolls his eyes. "Forgive me if you're not open to constructive criticism-"

George has drifted up from somewhere and is now observing the interaction with no small amount of amusement.

"I have no obligation to forgive you-" Boris announces, turning his back on his brother. "I will not forgive that portentously sarcastic request for forgiveness and nor will I forgive that egregious slur and argument indicative of intellectual deficiency."

Jo arches an eyebrow, looking remarkably unruffled. "Well, now I'm heartbroken."

"You ought to be. Why, right from the precise moment of your birth-"

"Oh, I don't doubt my vocabulary abilities were permanently and immeasurably inferior to yours'" Jo adds lazily, appearing to examine his drink with idle interest. "I'm sure I was the quintessential disappointment to our parents."

Boris nods triumphantly. "Quite."

Jo pauses, and then with the tiniest of smirks, adds very deliberately "Al."

A dead silence falls. David bites his lip as Boris stops dead and then slowly swells. George leans in and mutters so just David, Nick and Miliband can hear "Cue gasp-"

Boris gasps. David gives George a subtle thumbs-up.

Boris stares at his brother as if he's just called him a Labourite. "How dare you pass such vile slander-"

_"You can call me Al."_ All of them turn to stare at Nick, who's singing softly under his breath, eyes staring off into the distance. After a moment, he blinks, seeming to come back to himself a little, and glances round quizzically at them all. "Wrong moment?"

George nods, Miliband snorts and David gives Nick a pat on the arm.

Meanwhile, Boris is glowering at his younger brother. "How dare you expect me not to take umbrage at this ludicrously infantile slight-"

"Oh, I'd never expect you not to take umbrage" Jo reassures him, eyes still on his drink. "I am, after several decades of being your brother, aware of not only your tendency but your all-consuming _adoration_ of taking umbrage, indeed, at everything it is conceivably possible to take umbrage _with-"_

"Fancy providing them with a distraction?" David mutters to George. "With your MC Hammer impression?"

George glowers at him and David grins back. "You didn't _have_ to tell us that."

"I didn't know I couldn't trust you to keep a promise" George snaps and David turns to Miliband automatically, his grin widening at the sight of the look on Miliband's face.

"Broken promises" they say, their voices tripping over one another and they're both laughing, even as George and Nick roll their eyes and the Johnson brothers continue to bicker.

For a moment, David thinks he catches Nick's gaze lingering on them both, but a second later, he's sure he's imagined it. Their laughter's only just beginning to die down when Boris almost explodes.

"That is it, that is-the proverbial _it-_if you call me Al once more, I assure you, you will suffer indisputably inhumane consequences, reducing your polemic tendencies to virtually nil-"

Jo has given up any pretence of taking the fight seriously, instead propping himself up against the wall, almost weeping with laughter.

Boris looks apoplectic. If he wasn't finding the whole spectacle so utterly amusing, David might be a little concerned for his health.

"Do not call-"

_"You can call me Al."_

"Still not the moment, Nick."

* * *

Ed had been engaged in taking cautious sips from a drink, musing darkly on whether the Tory products were purchased with taxpayers' money and trying to convince himself it was entirely exasperation which was making him roll his eyes at the way Cameron had been patting Fallon's shoulder when there'd been a hand on his own and then Nick's voice in his ear, "You'll burn a hole in someone's suit if you keep staring too long, you know."

Ed had almost jumped out of his skin and only just managed to save his drink. But Nick had just laughed, steadying Ed's shoulder a little and said, "Who was it anyway, Tory or Lib Dem?"

Ed had felt his shoulders sink a little which was ridiculous because it wasn't as if there'd been anything wrong with him watching Cameron. In fact, while his gaze might have been rather frequently focused on Cameron, he'd found his eyes wandering to the people around him too, watching them laugh. He'd known that Cameron would make some comment about "enduring the evils of capitalism", but Ed had been watching them-the way they touched each other's arms, the way Fallon and Gove had been pretending to argue over which had more of a claim on their shared moniker, while Danny and Osborne had clinked their glasses together and Danny's glasses had slid down his nose as he'd laughed. Ed had watched them and he hadn't felt like he was watching austerity or capitalism or even Tories.

It had just felt like he was watching people. People who were laughing and asking the Christmas music to help them forget and hoping a little too much.

But Ed had just looked at Nick and said "All of you" more quietly than he meant to. And Nick's eyes had met his and they'd watched each other for a moment and then Nick had shrugged as though that was a perfectly acceptable answer.

Ed had taken another sip of his drink. He hadn't even had too much but something about the thinking and the party and Nick talking to him had been making the world spin a little. It had been harder to focus, as though his thoughts had become eyes, darting from one bright light to another. They'd settled on Cameron, Cameron with that crease at his own eyes that made him look more boyish than he should and the room had fallen into clarity again.

"David invited you." It hadn't been a question and Ed hadn't pretended to treat it as one. "Who else would?" he'd said instead, and had felt the brief victorious stab of Cameron's trick of answering questions with a question.

Nick had laughed. "You can't really think that badly of us all."

Ed had arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you'd defected to the Tories. Everyone _th-suspected_, mind you, but to have _confirmation-"_

Nick had been laughing, shaking his head, the way he had when he'd first seen Ed that afternoon, when he'd clapped him on the arm and intoned dramatically "We've done it-we've captured a Labourite! I'm the one telling Balls!" Now, he'd given Ed a smirk. "I wasn't aware _you_ had."

Ed had laughed, a little louder than he had intended to. "I doubt Cameron would want me anywhere near his team." He'd drained his glass and stared over at Cameron, chatting away with Oliver and just watched him for a few seconds, before he'd finished-"He'd be too afraid I was th-spying on the capitalists for some ostentatiouth-sly communith-st plot."

Nick had burst out laughing, even as Ed had winced at the lisp breaking through and had then been distracted by the sight of Gove making his way over to Cameron.

"He'd love that one" Nick had eventually managed, wiping at his eyes.

"At least, it's_ one_ of our ideas he loves."

Nick had stopped laughing rather abruptly and had just watched Ed for a moment, his gaze a little too close to_ searching_ for comfort.

"I think he likes more than one of your ideas" Nick had said and even though he'd been smiling, something in the words had made Ed shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. He'd swallowed, suddenly aware of his phone in his pocket, the way he'd been staring at the screen, grinning at the messages Cameron had been sending him from across the room. Something in Cameron's expression when he'd assured Ed he'd be back in just a few moments, in the way his words had come close to tripping over one another, had made it one of the few times Ed had ever seen Cameron something close to flustered and it hadn't given him quite the stab of triumph he'd expected.

Instead, there'd been something warmer that had made it far too easy to smile at Cameron. Far too easy to _want_ to smile at Cameron.

Cameron's hand had hovered, as if he wanted to pat Ed on the arm but had thought better of it.

Now, taking in Nick's face and words, Ed had cleared his throat. "Perhaps" he'd said, struggling to make the word as light as possible. But Nick, watching him with his head tilted to the side, had said quietly "I suppose it must be weird. To be spending so much time with him suddenly." Nick hadn't laughed when he'd said quietly, "I mean, one minute he's practically your best friend, the next the two of you hate each other-"

Ed's head had jerked up then. "Cameron's not my best friend" he'd said sharply, something cold and panicked rising in his throat at the words. "And I don't hate him, either."

Nick hadn't glared at him, nor had he contradicted Ed's words. Instead, he'd watched him for another, longer moment, and then said "All right. It's just-you spend a lot of time together for people who aren't friends."

Ed had swallowed, fingers tightening unintentionally on the glass. "He-he-I mean-he might not be my best friend" he'd said. "We argue-I mean, you've heard uth-" He'd laughed then, a little too high. "We-we can't go five minutes without sh-shouting at each other-"

Nick had snorted with laughter and when Ed had glanced at him curiously, just shaken his head. "Nothing. Just-the way the two of you argue-it-it's better than friends, to be honest-"

"What do you mean?" Ed hadn't known why his chest had suddenly been a little too tight. He'd found himself clutching his glass, as if it might fly out of his hands.

Nick had still been laughing. "Nothing. Just-maybe you and David bypass being friends. Friends-" He'd clearly waved a hand, struggling to explain. "Friends generally-try to avoid throwing their flaws in each other's faces, you know? I mean, they might do it in a moment where they need it. But most of the time-you know-you try to avoid it."

He'd shaken his head. "But you two-all you do is keep at it. Even when you're laughing. You two can say the stuff to each other that friends can't. Maybe that's-I don't know. Different, I suppose." Nick had taken another sip of his drink. "Sorry" he'd said, holding up a hand at Ed who hadn't looked away from him since he stopped talking. "Ignore me. I'm just rambling."

"No." Ed had shaken his head, Nick's words still echoing in his brain. "No-you-I mean, maybe-"

He'd tried to fit the idea of him and Cameron being friends together in his head. He supposes, for someone else, that it might be easy to say that they are. That-Bonfire Nights, birthday parties, text messages-

(Cameron sleeping against his shoulder)

(and Ed's cheeks flame, which is very inconvenient)

That that's an easy definition of friends.

But-Ed's painfully aware-that in politics, it can be all too different.

Even if a part of him-a bigger part than he'd have guessed a few months ago-doesn't necessarily want it to be.

Nick had shrugged. "Apparently, we Lib Dems are good for something."

Ed had felt the colour creep into his face. "I never said that, Nick."

Nick had arched a brow. "You didn't have to. Your whole party's implied it." He'd shaken his head and Ed had opened his mouth to protest but Nick had just said "It's strange, isn't it? The way things work out."

Ed had blinked but Nick had gone on hurriedly. "I mean-back in 2010, David and I knew we were going to disagree. We knew, but the first few times we did, we were-ah-" He laughs. "A little too polite about it. It took a few tries for us to start yelling at each other." He'd laughed and drained his glass. "But we could always sort it out afterwards."

He'd trailed off but Ed had kept watching him, waiting for the tail of the words to curl themselves around the rest of the sentence. After a few seconds, Nick had proved him right.

"It's just-well, you two are sort of the other way round, aren't you?" When Ed had given him a quizzical look, Nick had frowned, lowered his voice a little. "I mean, with being Opposition. You two started out throwing every single thing you hated about each other across the room and then-well-you've gone from there." He'd given Ed a strange look then-a look that was a little confused and something else, something like happiness and sadness all at once. "I suppose, starting with the bad leaves you with only the good to find, you could argue."

Ed had snorted before he could stop himself. "I'm not sure Cameron would agree with you there."

Nick had looked right at him then. He hadn't confirmed or denied what Ed had just blurted out (and was already kicking himself for). Instead, he'd just said "I suppose-I sometimes wonder-how all this is going to end. I mean-" He'd laughed but it hadn't been as easy as it should have been. "After May, all this is going to be different."

Ed had swallowed hard then. Nick's words had probed at some buried fact inside him, something he's been trying not to breathe into life with one touch of his own thoughts.

Nick had still been watching him and Ed had taken a deep breath and opened his mouth. He hadn't known whether he wanted to or not, but the words had been crawling out anyway. "Do you think-everything-"

He hadn't got any further before Nick's eyes had widened in recognition. "Speak of the devil."

Ed had been turning, even knowing who it was going to be, and feeling the smile creep to his mouth even as his hand and Nick's had risen in automatic waves at the sight of David Cameron heading towards them. Something in his eyes had been brighter, softer, an observation that flickered into life quickly, and then slipped through Ed's fingers.

Ed has always liked to hold onto points so he can feel the question hanging between them. He'd been able to feel it then, and even as they'd stepped forward to greet Cameron and Boris, he'd known, just known, that Nick was able to too. That question and whatever the answer was.

* * *

Andy can guess who it is by the way Marie-France raises her eyebrows at him as she hands him the phone. But when she says "Ed, for you" while Annie rolls her eyes as he holds up his hand and says "One moment, sweetheart-" gently pushing aside the book she'd been reading aloud from, he still has to ask "Which one?"

His wife opens her mouth but right then is when Andy hears the voice echoing down the phone. "Why the_ fuck_ is your phone off, Burnham? Christ-no, Yvette, don't tell me to calm down. I've just had to use a landline. It's like I'm back in the 90s Treasury, trying to get hold of Blair for Gordon, for fuck's sake-"

Andy sighs and wonders if he should be offended by the Blair mention. Annie stops glaring at him and dissolves into sniggering. Andy half-snatches the phone and presses it tight to his ear to prevent anymore of the tirade escaping. "Thanks, Balls. My daughter just heard all of that."

He can practically hear Balls rolling his eyes at the other end of the phone. "Look, usually, I'd be begging you for forgiveness but right now, something fucking important's happened, Burnham."

Andy springs up from the couch, heads for the hallway. "What is it?" he asks, mind already running through all the possibilities-the banks have collapsed, Miliband's resigned, Cameron's choked on his own privilege-

"Miliband-" Balls draws in a breath so deeply Andy would be forgiven for thinking it's his last. "Is in the fucking government party in Downing Street."

Andy stares at the phone for a moment as if it might tell him something else entirely. "That's _it?"_

Balls almost explodes on the other end. "What do you mean, _that's fucking it?_ _Miliband _is in _Cameron's_ fucking_ party_, that's what's _it."_

_"So?"_ Andy leans against the wall, unable to believe that one of the few afternoons he ever gets at home with his children have been interrupted by Balls and Miliband's social life. "Cameron probably invited him, for God's sake. They sometimes spend time together. What do you think's going to happen, he'll come out wearing a blue rosette and talking about privatizing the NHS?" Back in the living room, Rosie and Annie have started singing "Let It Go" very loudly. Andy can't decide if this is just a coincidence or if they're trying to tell him something.

"Look-" Balls' voice is uncharacteristically lower now, more serious. "I've known Miliband for nearly twenty fucking years, since we were in the Treasury together. For all that the guy can fuck over his own brother, there are times he crumbles. I mean, fucking _crumbles."_

"Balls, I'd be more worried about _you _turning Tory than _Miliband."_

There's a heartbeat of silence and then Balls sucks in a deep breath. "Well, I feel _filthy_ now, Burnham."

"That concerns me." Andy rolls his eyes at Yvette's voice in the background.

"Oh, for-" He lets his head fall back against the wall and wonders for the hundredth time why he ever gave Balls his home number. "Ed, I'm sure Miliband just went to the stupid party because he got invited."

"Never mind _why_ he went. What the hell's Cameron doing, _inviting_ him?"

Andy shrugs. "Like I said. They spend time together. Jesus, it's not a _wedding-"_

_"They spend time together?_ Christ, Burnham, you sound like one of those fucking pimple-faced interns-the ones whose mothers probably still wash behind their ears-"

"Well, what the fuck are _you _suggesting? That Cameron's going to drug him and convert him to the Tories?"

"For Christ's sake, Burnham-"

"Look, you saw Cameron at Sam's party, for God's sake-he was there, like a fucking fish out of water, and no one tried pinning a red rosette on him, did they-"

Balls draws in a breath and then falls silent, prompting Andy to keep speaking.

"And Miliband's not going to want to lose the election. He's not going to want to take his focus off that."

Balls is silent and Andy feels the familiar stab of mingled pride and exasperation that he's the only one who can get that silence out of Ed. (Apart from Osborne, though Andy's not sure whether Ed would admit to that.)

"Maybe-" which from Ed is like getting a three-page written apology and ten red roses from anyone else. "It's just-" He sighs. "Weird-Cameron and Miliband are supposed to _hate_ each other."

"Not really" Andy argues. "They've never _hated_ each other."

"Have you forgotten Syria, Burnham?"

"All right, I-they've been _close _to hating each other but they've never _actually-"_

"It's still-" Balls is quiet for a moment, which in itself is enough for Andy to be worried. "Something about it's fucking weird, Burnham."

Andy sighs. "Maybe" he agrees, mostly for peace of mind. Balls may have a point but there's an election. Miliband hardly wants to _lose._

"No idea how he doesn't hate Cameron" Balls says, after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "I can just about handle a few conversations but if I was alone with him all the time, I'd be up on a fucking murder charge."

Andy laughs. "Of course you would, Balls." He lets the smile tease at his own mouth, even though Balls can't see. "See, this lack of self-control is why Miliband's leader and not you."

"Shut up, Burnham."

* * *

"I'll make a bet" George mutters to Danny, giving him an elbow in the ribs. "Dave's going to end up talking to Robinson."

"I'm not making that bet." Danny tilts his head back against the wall, swigs the dregs of his glass of wine. "Dave likes the PR too much."

"I disagree." George blinks as his own glass of wine makes a rather remarkable disappearance from his hand, and he turns to see Theresa now holding it, smiling widely at him. "Do you honestly think Lynton would let Dave talk to the BBC's political editor without briefing him ten ways to Sunday-" She drains George's glass. George is reluctantly impressed.

"True-" George gives her an injured look and Theresa raises an eyebrow. "But Lynton isn't here."

"Oh, Lynton's everywhere." Theresa dismisses this with a shake of the head. "He's like one of the government out of _1984_. Even when you think Lynton isn't there, he is."

"Rather like the snooper's charter?" Danny mutters and George widens his eyes innocently when Theresa turns her glare on him. He has experience of Theresa's glare. It is not something one should expose the innocent to. (And there is something about Danny that's rather innocent, much as he'd hate George saying that.)

"Tough decisions. " They all turn at Iain's voice and George gives him a smile, a little smaller than he gives the others. "Hello, Iain."

Iain gives him exactly the same sort of smile. "Ready for the Autumn Statement on Wednesday?"

"It is Christmas, Iain." George tilts his head back against the wall, already regretting the loss of his wine to Theresa. "But the statement is perfectly prepared." He gives him a slightly bigger grin. "Which you well know, from our discussions last week."

Discussions is rather a tactful way of putting it. But that's fairly normal, for budgeting decisions, or at least that's what David would like George to tell himself.

Iain arches an eyebrow. "Glad to hear it."

"Seen Vince at all?" Danny asks Iain, and Iain shakes his head. "I've seen someone else, though."

"Miliband?" George asks before Iain can descend into a series of allusions and pointed references that will stretch on for roughly twenty years. "Yeah, David invited him."

"Who, Miliband?" George nearly jumps out of his skin as he spins round to find Philip behind him, and claps his hand over his chest. "Jesus Christ-"

Philip shakes his head. "No, but I'll take that as a compliment."

"How did you know we were talking about Miliband?" Danny asks, and Philip snorts. "The words _David invited him."_

George thinks he sees a frown ghost across Iain's face at that but it's gone before he can catch hold of it.

"No wine, George?" Philip gives him a frown and then suddenly finds his own glass lifted from his hand. Theresa smiles as he turns to stare at her. "Thank you, Philip. I believe you were about to offer me that?"

Philip opens his mouth and closes again and George shakes his head. "I do not think I could ever understand a man who says your gender are the weaker sex."

Theresa simply arches an eyebrow. "Glad to hear it."

"Not as if I could anyway." George resigns himself to temporarily remaining wineless. "My own daughter dresses up as a suffragette."

Danny splutters with laughter and Theresa nods, satisfied. "We'll make a Tory out of her yet."

Philip raises an eyebrow, still glancing at his hands as if expecting the glass of wine to reappear there any moment. "Place is about to explode. So much for curbing overpopulation-"

The words hang a little awkwardly in the air and George is already casting about for something to say to save the situation because it's been crowded for the past five years, with two parties packing themselves into Downing Street together, and a part of George shouldn't be thinking it wouldn't be such a bad thing if it stayed crowded.

Right then is when Danny chips in with a mischievous grin. "Don't worry. When the Lib Dems take a huge majority next year, I'm sure we'll offer the Tories a junior partnership in a coalition."

There's a moment of silence and then George and Theresa simultaneously burst out laughing. Philip gives Danny a pat on the arm and even Iain manages a grin, as Danny's eyes meet George's for a moment and they share a smile even amongst the laughter.

A part of it fastens onto George's lungs, whispering between his ribs and he laughs harder to drown it out.

(This will be the last one. Which is a fact and one he can't get away from.)

"But honestly-" Philip turns around to inspect the room. "I didn't see Vince. I did see Jeremy and Jacob engaging in a discussion-"

"Oh, I want to see that." George claps his hands together at the thought. "In fact, forget I said that. I like to see Jacob in a discussion with anyone."

Iain smiles, as almost anyone does at the mention of Jacob. George knows he's hit on the right topic.

"True blue Tory" Iain says, almost affectionately. "Still, better than a lot."

George's smile grows a little tighter at that. "Compassionate Conservatives can be better than a lot too" he says lightly, feeling his fingers curl around his sleeve and wishing he still had a glass of wine to occupy his mouth.

"Well-" Philip chips in, and George feels his hand touch his elbow, thought that could just be an accident. "Maybe David's telling Miliband that."

They all laugh a little too loudly, and George takes the moment to wonder precisely what Miliband thinks being here. Not that Miliband's got any right to sneer, he reminds himself-one of the most irritating things about Miliband is the fact that the man's as privileged as they are in his own way, and yet likes to denote himself as a friend to the working class. George is the first to admit he's been fortunate in his life, but Miliband seems to see the word_ rich_ as an insult, a brand to burn into someone's forehead while conveniently forgetting the fact that he himself lives in a £2million house that he didn't exactly acquire through squeaky clean methods.

George isn't stupid and he isn't naive. He knows what people have thought of him in the past and what they're likely to think of him in the future. But that-that has to be secondary.

They have to make decisions. And they have to make ones that won't be popular. And if they happen to do that while coming from moneyed backgrounds-

That doesn't make them bad people.

Surely, if someone can't be blamed from coming from a working-class home, it's an act of blatant hypocrisy to say they can be blamed for coming from an upper-class one. Stephen comes from a council estate, for God's sake. He doesn't walk around, patting himself on the back and moralising to the world at large about their privilege.

Still, George supposes they'll have a chance to make all these arguments before May.

But no matter what Miliband likes to pretend, George knows the man had a silver spoon shoved down his throat as surely as they did, and he's fairly certain-according to some of the results Lynton's bringing in-that come May, the country will see it too.

Until then, he supposes Miliband can, at times, be tolerable company.

"Speaking of which-" he says, to all of them at large, turning around to take in the room, "where_ are_ David and Miliband?"

* * *

"Imagine Ed Miliband choosing to sneak out of a party-"

"Shut up, Cameron-"

"Be polite to your hosts, Miliband-"

"It was _your_ suggestion to come outside, Cameron."

The Downing Street gardens are stretched bare, the last leaves clinging to the branches. There's a bite of winter in the air and Miliband pulls his suit more tightly around himself. David can't laugh-he's considering the same himself and glancing again at Miliband, who appears to be shivering a little, he wonders if he made the best decision in dragging Miliband out here.

"I'm showing concern for your health, Miliband" he tells him now. "It's my duty as Prime Minister to make sure you aren't being savaged by those cold-hearted, ill-focused Tories."

"I appreciate you being honest with yourself, Cameron, but I'm not sure if the th-same goes for your party."

"Well, Miliband?"

"Well what, Cameron?"

"Are you being targeted by the malicious antics of over-privileged Etonians?"

"They're not all Etonians, Cameron-you know, you really should be aware of the basic biographies of your Cabinet. And no. They've all been remarkably polite."

"Better than they are with me."

"That's hardly surprising, Cameron."

"Oh, shut up, Miliband." David stretches, shivers as the wind nibbles at his bones, pulling goosebumps to the surface of his skin. "God, it's cold."

"Keen th-sense of observation, Cameron. Why don't we go in?"

David shakes his head, teeth chattering over the words. "N-nah, Robinson just cornered me in there. L-like he was trying to d-drag out a manifesto." He shoots Ed a look from under his eyelashes. "You gave him a few interviews last month, didn't you?"

Ed sighs. "I'm n-not g-going to t-tell you, Cameron-you d-do know that's the oldeth-st trick in the b-book-"

David shoots him a grin this time. "Worth a try."

Ed makes a sound like a huff and looks away. "C-Cameron, if we th-s-stay out here much longer, we're going to f-freeze. I m-may be morally obligated t-to use your body heat against f-frostbite-,p-provide the c-country with a decent leader-

He doesn't get any further than this because Cameron dissolves into laughter, even as something about the words crawls in between his ribs, stabbing when he least expects it.

Miliband glances at him, then away again. "That came out wrong" he says, without looking at David, and David's laughing so hard that he can barely even summon up a retort. (And it would have been blistering, too.)

"I imagine so-" He doesn't finish the sentence, still laughing as he tugs his suit tighter around himself. Somehow, the sight of the pink flush rising to Miliband's cheeks makes him both grin harder and also sends a pang into his ribs.

He can't disguise the shivering now and something about the snap of winter in the air reminds David of days coming back from Heatherdown for the holidays, climbing into the warmth of the car, seeing his father's smile from the front seat, the occasional ruffle to his hair that made him feel, more than anything else, that he was home.

It might be that memory or it might be the simple desire to get out of the cold, but something-probably the same thing that his housemaster once dubbed "the unfortunate imp in his nature"-makes David turn to Miliband and say "Follow me, and I'll get you out of the cold."

He catches a glimpse of Miliband's expression, a brief grin flickering into view and David fights a weird urge to grab onto it and pull it back up.

"Good idea, Cameron-of courthe, as usual, very little plan for follow-through, but then that's par for the course-"

David glances up to see Miliband's eyes, dark and glittering with suppressed mirth. He watches the smirk hovering at Miliband's mouth that the other man's clearly struggling to hold back and hopes against hope that Miliband can't see that he himself is struggling with the same problem.

"Well then, it's fortunate I've got a visual aid for you, Miliband."

* * *

"Cameron, my ministerial car is _not_ a visual aid."

"Details, Miliband. I know you dislike them but-"

"Not to mention your protection team currently have _no_ idea where you are."

"Of course they do." David holds up his mobile triumphantly and grins as Miliband rolls his eyes. "They know exactly where I am. They don't have to stick to us like glue in Downing Street."

"If you'd given me some warning, I could have called Bob and let him know what was going on-"

"Taken care of." David waves the phone triumphantly and grins as Miliband sinks back into the seat. "Come on-we're parked privately and it's warm. You should try tasting optimism, for a change." He darts a grin at Miliband, who's awkwardly settling himself into the driver's seat. "Then again, given your party's performance in the polls-"

Miliband rolls his eyes. "I hope you lose your subtlety at some point, Cameron."

David laughs, louder than he means to, the freedom rushing to his head, the feeling of being away from the watching-the constant watching, so much so that he sometimes wakes up convinced that someone's shaken his shoulder, guarding him for his own protection if not his liking.

He laughs again, wondering if he's going slightly mad, and then wondering if he cares. Miliband is staring at him with an expression he can't quite fathom and that just makes David laugh harder.

Miliband shakes his head and a strange smile breaks over his mouth. "I-" He looks away but David can see his cheek lifting in a grin.

The heater's doing its' job and David slides off his suit, reaches for his ipod. Next to him, Miliband follows suit, watching as David holds out the ipod questioningly.

Miliband nods and watches as David plugs it into the car stereo. After a moment, Morrissey's voice fills the car, the words _"gruesome that someone so handsome should care",_ echoing in David's ears.

Miliband rolls his eyes. "The Th-Smiths, Cameron?"

David's in such a good mood suddenly that he doesn't even balk at Miliband's tone. Instead, he just grins and launches into the next line. _"And in this charming car, this charming man-"_

Miliband shakes his head, smirk tugging at his mouth. "Cameron-" He trails off and David brushes his sleeve. "You pick one, then." He's in too good a mood to let Miliband's distaste for the Smiths ruin it.

"Was thith your teenage anthem-"

"It wasn't out when we were teenagers, Miliband-please don't disrespect Morrissey with your lack of knowledge-"

"You would know best at disrespecting Morrissey-"

"That is a low blow-"

Miliband grins, gestures for the ipod and begins scrolling through the songs. David jabs at one.

Miliband rolls his eyes as "Bigmouth Strikes Again" begins playing. "Cameron, literal really ith your middle name, isn't it-"

"It's rather difficult not to point these things out, Miliband-"

Miliband gifts him with another eye-roll, as he inspects the contents of David's ipod. "The Smiths....The Killers...The Cure...God, Cameron-"

"What, Miliband-"

"It's rather too easy to picture you as a teenager-"

"What, on the basis of this ipod? I don't believe they _existed_ when I was a teenager-"

"Are you trying to _copyright_ literal, Cameron-"

"Did the last twenty years not_ happen_ to you, Miliband?"

David shakes his head as Miliband scrolls through and "Use Somebody" blasts out. Miliband nods his head in time to the music which is so endearingly hilarious that David has to look away so he doesn't burst out laughing and not stop for a hundred years.

"That's about as expected as Jesus walking into the car-"

"Cameron, have you gone completely insane?"

"No, seeing _you_ know a popular song-"

"Hilarious-you know, Jesus was reportedly an opponent of capitalism-"

"And you are supposedly a supporter of responsible capitalism-" David's drowned out by the chorus which it must surely be a criminal offence not to join in with. David resolves immediately to look into having it made one as soon as possible.

He's not the only one joining in and it's only when they get to the next few lines that he realises that he and Miliband have, by some awful happenstance of fate, ended up harmonizing together.

(But it is a fantastic song.)

(That's the only reason they keep singing.)

By the time the song ends, David's throat is sore but he's grinning so hard his mouth aches. Miliband is staring at him, his cheeks flushed, the last notes ringing out between them.

They stare at each other in silence for a few moments and then Miliband proffers the ipod to David who takes it, only part of him grasping for something to say. The rest of him is relishing the silence, the silence that for once isn't full of barbed jibes, still waiting to prick someone's skin.

Perhaps it's the unusually good atmosphere that makes David put on a song he knows Miliband will like.

Miliband rolls his eyes. (He's always rolling his eyes. One day, they'll get stuck and he'll probably blame David for that, too.) But the grin's there, brightening at the sound.

_"You_ were the one who told the world about it, Miliband-"

"Which you apparently listened to. And share." Some of the impact of the words is diminished by the way in which Miliband is cranking the volume, humming along to the tune.

"They used to play this at school discos" he says, without prompting. David glances at him, trying his best to picture Miliband at a school disco, and fails miserably.

Miliband's eyes meet his and his lip curls. "No comment, Cameron?"

David decides to take the bait. "Fine. Were you, indeed, out revelling on the dance floor in a leather jacket or some such garment, with a different girl on your arm each week?"

Miliband snaps his fingers. (Or tries to. He doesn't quite manage it, which makes David smile.) "I thought you'd been replaced for a moment there, Cameron. Your doppelganger was a lot more polite-"

"Can I infer that that assumption is incorrect then?"

Miliband shakes his head, holding up a hand as the chorus plays. He doesn't join in this time, just nods along and David watches him watch the screen.

It's not until the chorus is over that Miliband says "Purple jumper."

"Sorry?"

"And that. Th-sorry and a purple jumper. That was the average content of my school discos. I'm surprised you didn't remember, given your avid listening to that show-" He raises his eyebrows. "Nothing, Cameron?"

David bites back a smirk and raises his hands in a gesture of innocence.

Miliband tilts his head to the side. "The jumper might have been plum, you know."

"Oh?"

"Hmmm. With white trouserth."

David strives to keep his face free of any expression as he says "So-" He pretends to flick through his ipod. "For a short time-" He glances at Miliband. "You actually more closely resembled an Eton mess than I did?"

Miliband bursts out laughing before he's even finished the sentence and David cocks his head innocently. "A UKIP mess, perhaps?"

Miliband's laughing too hard to glare, which David likes more than he should.

"Just an observation-"

Miliband's still shaking his head. "Maybe that'th why nobody danced with me. If I bore a close resemblance to _you_-or Farage, for that matter-"

"Nobody danced with you?"

"No. I was in a purple jumper and white _trouserth-s_, Cameron. Danth-cing to A-Ha." David purses his lips at the mental image.

"Still-" he says, even as Miliband leans back in his seat. "That's no reason not to dance with you. I'd have-" Miliband's eyes flicker to his own and David hastily backtracks. "I mean, I'd have-dealt with them."

Miliband's brow arches. "Of course you would have, Cameron. After all, none of them owned restaurants, helicopters-"

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Miliband-"

"Especially not when it's from an austerity-inclined government-"

David stares at him. "Really? I'm starting to think _this_ is why nobody danced with you-you probably greeted them with "Oh, would you like to discuss the recent trends in economic growth-"

"We weren't _in_ auth-sterity then, Cameron-did they teach Hith-story at Eton?"

One of them puts "Tainted Love" on and they bicker back and forth, soaking up the warmth in the car, sealed away from the cold that reaches in from outside to brush their skin. They throw words back and forth because this is what they know and they let the music blast a little too loud to disguise whatever David had been about to say.

(Because he can't stop grinning at the thought of teenage Miliband in his purple jumper and white trousers.)

(Because something about the image is entirely too easy to picture and entirely too hard to let go of.)

(Because it's a little too easy to think that he might've thought about dancing with Miliband back then.)

(That he might have.)

(Might have danced with Miliband.)

(Maybe.)

* * *

Lynton prides himself on being able to get what he needs out of people but it's hard enough when they're on your side.

It takes him almost an hour to get Tom Baldwin on the main line at one ear and Bob Roberts on a mobile jammed at the other. And that's how he finds himself slumped in his office chair with two hands jamming phones to his ears and Craig frantically mouthing words at him over what has finally turned out to be a good Skype connection.

"No wonder the Tories are such a fucking mess-" Baldwin barks while Lynton rolls his eyes at Craig and pictures Bob doing much the same on his end of the phone. "You want Cameron to be palling around with him one minute, the next you want them to be ripping each other's throats out-"

"And this is precisely the fucking problem with your lot." Lynton sighs, rolls his eyes at Craig. "You don't focus on the details; it's like watching a party with fucking amnesia. We never said they have to be best mates and I'm not asking them to tear up a fucking friendship bracelet. I'm asking them to look less like bloody best mates when necessary-"

"What exactly do we want?" Bob is calm. (Bob's always fucking calm.) "I mean, why are we having this conversation? What do we want to get out of it?"

Lynton sighs. "The train thing-fine. We can deal with that, if it gets out. Bit of unity, maybe. That's fine. Even the Bonfire Night thing. Little friendly but maybe that's an edge both of them need-give the idea that politicians are a little more human. Just-we need to make sure this doesn't go too far the other way."

"Your boss is the one who invited Ed to a fucking _Christmas party_, Crosby."

"Yeah, and I told you I had no idea that was happening-" Craig is shaking his head wildly and Lynton gets the message. "The thing is-" he says-he's learnt how to make it sound as though it's simply a transition in the conversation these days. "That doesn't matter. We just need to make sure neither of them gets distracted. If they get off their game, it cocks things up for them, for the parties, for everyone." _Especially us,_ he adds silently.

"That's a point" Bob says. "Sorry to betray you there, Tom."

Tom makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. "So what? We're asking them to do a sodding friendship vow?"

Craig moves his hand down and Lynton takes a deep breath because they might sometimes have to confer but he can never forget they're on opposite sides. "No. We tell them-" He sighs. "We wait. We see. And if it affects them, then we'll step in."

"It's already affecting them-"

"I meant politically." Lynton hears his voice grow stronger, the familiar jab of conviction that comes with being right. (It's a tough job but someone's got to do it.) "If it starts affecting them there, if it's seen negatively-we tell them to cool it a little." He pauses. "What did you tell Miliband? At the start of all this?"

"To be a little more personable with your lot. And to take that_ one_ car journey together. That was _all._ What about-"

"We told David to be a bit more personable and-basically the same."

"Wait." Tom's voice is suddenly sharp. "You didn't say anything about-going to each other's houses? You didn't instigate-you weren't behind all that sort of stuff?"

"No. Did you-"

"Why the fuck would I be asking you if we had?"

Lynton glances at Craig but the other man's leaning forward, eyes fixed intently on the screen. "We're leaping in before we even know what we're dealing with. It hasn't stopped the two of them taking shots at each other at PMQs, has it?"

Lynton doesn't give them a chance to answer. "Why rock a boat that isn't sinking?"

"Doesn't even make sense, Crosby-"

"It does, Tom." Bob's voice is by far the calmest. "Not the metaphor, that was complete crap, but the sentiment. Right now, it's not going to help."

Lynton doesn't often hear the word_ sentiment_ in conjunction with himself but judging by the way Craig's flashing two thumbs up through the screen, he's done something right.

Tom's muttering something but he can almost hear Bob's nod through the phone and a few minutes later, with the phones down, he's watching Craig through the screen and saying "I fucking hope we know what we're doing, Oliver."

Craig nods and Lynton realises he hates the feeling of not knowing whether or not he's right.

(Fortunately, he doesn't get that feeling often.)

(And if all goes to plan, he won't be getting it again for a while.)

(He hopes.)

* * *

_Playlist_

_You Can Call Me Al-Paul Simon_ _-one of the songs that was playing._

_This Charming Man-The Smiths_ _-famously, one of David's favourite songs._

_Take On Me-A-Ha!_ _-famously, one of Ed's._

_Use Somebody-Kings of Leon-Ed played this after his first party conference speech._

_Tainted Love-Soft Cell-"Once I ran to you (I ran)/Now I'll run from you/This tainted love you've given/I gave you all a boy could give you/Take my tears and that's not nearly all"-another song that plays._

_You've Got To Hide Your Love Away-The Beatles-"Everywhere people stare/Each and every day/I can see them laugh at me/And I hear them say/Hey, you've got to hide your love away/Hey, you've got to hide your love away"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of George's daughter Liberty dressing up in a suffragette outfit protesting women not being on the banknotes is true, as is him being aware of his own image issues, especially after the incident of him being booed at the Paralympics in 2012: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/can-george-osborne-prove-that-he-cares-n3v5xvbkfjd  
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2826427/Chancellor-reveals-daughter-plans-Jane-Austen-banknote-son-inspired-support-NFL-team-based-London.html  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqM0Ube0oLs  
The Johnson family are known for their competitiveness: http://dailym.ai/2TUDpHd  
http://dailym.ai/2VZHD2M  
https://bit.ly/2xgSsmL  
Jo would famously resign from his brother's Cabinet after Boris became Prime Minister in 2019, citing his disagreements with him over Brexit. However, at the time of writing, the two have appeared to reconcile: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-49594793  
http://dailym.ai/2PZeLE2  
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2019/sep/05/a-family-divided-how-brexit-fractured-the-johnsons  
https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/george-osborne-i-tried-to-swap-jobs-with-william-hague  
George does do an MC Hammer impression:http://dailym.ai/2PZhPQL  
Michael Gove comes from a Labour family and was a teenage Labour supporter: https://bit.ly/2VYtvHe  
Gove's relationship with Nick Clegg went hugely downhill while in government: https://bit.ly/3aChtXS  
https://bit.ly/332WYkR  
David chose This Charming Man as one of his Desert Island Discs selections and is a fan of The Smiths:https://bit.ly/2TBKQ79  
https://bit.ly/2Q227UW  
Ed's disco outfit is one he described on his own Desert Island Discs:http://dailym.ai/2Q2ZBO9  
It was later revealed that Ed's desert island discs was mostly chosen for him by advisers:https://bit.ly/3cKMBqc  
David bringing up Ed's Desert Island Discs choices in PMQs: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-25122196/pmqs-pm-and-miliband-on-payday-loans-and-winter-deaths  
"Responsible capitalism" was one of Ed's mantras during his leadership:https://bit.ly/333k3Uo  
Ed walking out of his first leader's speech to "Use Somebody":https://bit.ly/2U7RFgW  
https://bit.ly/2UxcTno


	9. A Descent Of Doubt, Autumnal Avarice And A Financial Fracas Of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which Australia can provide surprising gifts, no-one wants to think about the future and there is an Autumn Statement."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, let me know if you like anything about it, or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask) . If you want to read any of the articles but can't, just let me know.  
Reference quotes here refer to George babysitting Ed B's son, George and Frances' first meeting, and Lynton's koalas.  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_On television, you never get a sense of how small the House Of Commons actually is, how close the opposing benches are to each other, and what a cauldron of noise is created. The microphones pick up only a fraction of what is going on, as do the journalists up in the press gallery. It was perfectly possible, and common, for George Osborne and me to have a whispered chat throughout the PMQs exchanges. I'd observe how little David Cameron understood the issues; George would ask in response why then were we unable to lay a glove on him?...Given we regularly used to appear on the same interview programmes, and both had kids who liked coming to the studio with us, George and I got to meet each other's children. One Sunday morning, I had to do an interview with John Pienaar on Radio 5 Live after we'd both appeared on The Andrew Marr Show together. George kindly offered to take my son up to the post-show breakfast while I went and did my interview. Once I was finished on Pienaar, I was chatting to the other guests in the studio with the microphones off , and I casually said: "**I've got to go because I've left the Chancellor babysitting my son"**, which they all found funny.-Speaking Out: Lessons In Life And Politics, Ed Balls_

_Good-looking and impeccably connected, Osborne was becoming something of a catch. He had already dated Kate Fall, his former CRD colleague, when, in July (1996), George Bridges invited a group of friends to a dinner party at his parents' home in Surrey. Among them were Osborne and a financial analyst named Frances Howell, whose father David had served as a Cabinet minister under Thatcher. They were a pretty pair and formed a connection over dinner as Howell, who yearned to write for a living, found Osborne reading animatedly to her from a newspaper. She was taken by his passion for the life he was building for himself; he by her spark and maturity. Although Osborne harboured a juvenile streak-even challenging another Magdalen (College) alumnus to a wasabi-eating contest at a Japanese restaurant that summer, emerging victorious but doubled-over in agony-he was actually drawn to **"intellectually self-made women",** says a peer. His female friends, such as the historian Amanda Foreman, were "**more Bloomsbury than Knightsbridge."** Howell was two years older than Osborne, and at least as clever. She also had an even wider circle of friends, including Catherine Ostler, a former flatmate who would go on to edit Tatler, and Simone Finn, now a special adviser in the government and a one-time girlfriend of Michael Gove, Osborne's future Cabinet colleague. Osborne and Howell began dating seriously. Within two years, they would marry...On 4 April 1998, Osborne married Frances Howell. The wedding took place at St Margaret's Church, next to Westminster Abbey. This ancient grandeur then gave way to the most modern of receptions at the newly revived Oxo Tower on the South Bank, then one of London's more modish venues.The event was a vast affair replete with politicos, but Osborne's best man was his old university friend Peter Davies, who had worked alongside the bride at Mercury Asset Management. Independent-minded and stunningly successful in her own right as an author, she remains about as far-removed from the caricature of a Tory wife as a woman can be. **"Frances helped George come into his own" ** says a friend of the couple, who testifies that she shimmered more natural confidence than Osborne at the time of their marriage.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_Osborne now faced perhaps the most pugilistic politician in Westminster, and the press had a rivalry they longed to write about. Balls had made his name as a fiscal hawk. He was Brown's eminence grise when the **"Iron Chancellor" ** followed two years of spending restraint with the decision to devote the bounty of a mobile phone spectrum auction to paying down public debt. More recently, though, he had emerged as Britain's foremost Keynesian-a man who was known to worry that even the Darling plan would stifle the economic recovery. This was less a conversion than a reversion: as far back as 1992 during his time as a Financial Times journalist, Balls had authored a Fabian Society pamphlet warning that the **"Euro-monetarism"** of the single currency would constrain the freedom of governments to **"use fiscal policy to stabilise incomes by borrowing when times are bad."** He and Osborne, who wonders what kind of Keynesian would run deficits during a boom, avowed antithetical views on economics but shared a taste for the martial aspect of politics. Their struggle would be the political story of this parliament.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_Labour colleagues used to ask me why I attended the annual meetings of the Bilderberg Group, alongside the likes of Kenneth Clarke, George Osborne and senior US Republicans, horrified that I was taking part in what they saw as some shadow Parliament of the plutocracy. I would explain that it was practically the only environment I knew in world politics where people with opposing opinions and theories could debate them in a calm and reasoned atmosphere, and learn and develop their thinking accordingly...In stark contrast (to his relationship with Cameron), George Osborne was always friendly and civil. We had some very heated and bruising exchanges in Parliament and in the interview studios over the years, but immediately afterwards we'd be able to have a little chat about our kids, or about staff moves at the Treasury, almost a bit of a ritual to show there were no hard feelings. I certainly wouldn't go so far as to call him a friend, but there was definitely a mutual respect and enjoyment of the political tussle, the same way you shake hands and go for a pint with your opponent even after a bad-tempered football match..it was no surprise, but much appreciated nonetheless, that both Michael (Gove) and George sent me very personal and thoughtful messages when I lost my seat in 2015.-Speaking Out: Lessons In Life And Politics, Ed Balls_

_(Lynton) Crosby also recognised that joking around, while good for morale, would not be enough on its own. Just as he had instigated the **"pink cardigan" a**wards for heroic work by staffers on Boris Johnson's mayoral campaigns, Crosby made sure that every day at the 5p.m. meeting of all staff in the war room, he would praise individuals for their outstanding efforts. This time, troops were awarded a cuddly koala or a furry toy kangaroo. The prizes were given out, to applause and general appreciation from their colleagues, to staff who had found a great anti-Labour story, a valuable campaign idea, or had just dressed up in an Alex Salmond mask to pose for a picture next to Ed Miliband. "**He was throwing them around all the time by the end of the campaign. Koalas and kangaroos were flying all over the place in the final week"** one member of staff recalls. **"We were trying to work out where he got them all from. Maybe he got a massive box when he went back (to Australia) at Christmas."****-**Why The Tories Won: The Inside Story Of The 2015 Election, Tim Ross_

_If one side of my personality-pragmatic, laid-back, consensual-was suited to sustaining a coalition, the other side-tribal and fiercely competitive-was suited to what I had to do in Parliament. Nowhere did this come out more (sometimes more than I could help) than at Prime Minister's Questions. As I've said, PMQs is a microcosm of the British parliamentary system: adversarial, noisy, partisan and unpredictable. It is important, and you have to do it well-to demonstrate that you're the leader of your pack, to engage your party, to take on the arguments being levelled against you. I dreaded it all week. It is as intimidating, demanding, exhausting and downright terrifying as anything you do as a prime minister. I was always deeply relieved when it was over. You'd think that after hundreds of appearances that fear would fade. It didn't...I would either drive or walk over to Parliament at 10.30 am and then sit in my Commons study alone. On my desk was a smaller ring binder and multicoloured subject dividers, and I would remove the parts of the official briefing I wanted, writing out bits in longhand and assembling it in my own order. I'd even take out scissors and Sellotape to cut out quotes I liked and stick them on the inside of the folder. It sounds a bit Blue Peter, but I found that I only really absorbed the facts-and knew where to find them immediately-if I had arranged them myself...Both the prime minister and the leader of the opposition are under pressure to perform, but having been on both sides I can say-perversely-how much easier it is to be on the government side. Both of you have bricks to throw, but as PM you have a building to defend. And you always get the last word...Apart from my first one or two appearances, I rarely watched the TV coverage of PMQs, but I did read some of the newspaper sketches. Sam used to say that on Thursday mornings I was like an ageing actor reading my reviews over the breakfast table, complaining that the critics hadn't properly appreciated my performance.-For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

_His peevish reproofs wakened in her a naughty delight to provoke him; she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once and she defying us with her bold, saucy look and her ready words; turning Joseph's religious curses into ridicule, baiting me and doing just what her father hated most..That made her cry, at first, and then being repulsed continually hardened her, and she laughed if I told her to say she was sorry for her faults and beg to be forgiven.-Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte_

_"We can leave the house lead the party let the people know_

_Go drown the colours of our minds and watch the cars go_

_It's not about just being out with all our people_

_Cause we can get in trouble just by going free throw"-Million Dollar Bills, Lorde_

_It was only a few minutes' walk from Castle to St John's-we had to cross Palace Green, past the cathedral, and down a little side street-and in that time, I decided to confront Pip about the exact reason for her declaration of "bad vibes."_

_"I **don't **have a crush on her" said Pip instantly, which confirmed the fact that she definitely had a crush on Rooney. "I **don't **get crushes on straight girls. Any more."_

_"So you've decided that she's your mortal enemy because....?"_

_"You know what it is?" Pip folded her arms, pulling her bomber jacket round her. "She's the sort of person who just thinks she's better than **everyone, **purely because she goes to clubs and bars and she has a giant house plant and she likes **Shakespeare."**_

_"You like Shakespeare and you have house plants" said Jason. "Why's she not allowed to like Shakespeare and house plants?"_

_Pip just gave him an irritated look._

_Jason glanced at me, eyebrows raised. We could both tell that Pip was making up silly reasons to dislike Rooney in an attempt to deflect her feelings. But we also knew we should probably just let it happen because, in all honesty, it was probably the best course of action..._

_"You could have just said no to hanging out tonight" I pointed out._

_"No I couldn't" said Pip, "because then she'd **win."**...._

_Eventually she said, "I don't like Rooney because she's disrupting the dynamics of our friendship group. And she's very annoying to me specifically."_

_I didn't even bother to answer her.-Loveless, Alice Oseman_

* * *

David has never denied the fact that PMQs is his least favourite part of the job. He's used to the nerves now-he has to be after nearly ten years of it-but it's still one of the key contributing factors to what he gravely informs Sam from time to time is almost definitely an ulcer-which grows incrementally worse each time it is exposed to one of his wife's acts which are sadly devoid of marital sympathy, such as tipping David's kitchen chair up to turf him out of it with the words "Go and pick the children up for a bath, then, give the toxins some time to seep through your bloodstream."

Ulcers aside, while there's a part of him that always rather enjoys arguing with Miliband, there's another part of him that, every week as he sits there waiting for their mandated public disputes, wishes he could be anywhere else but there.

And now, he's sitting here listening to Miliband meander his way to the end of his first question and sensing George's eye roll without even looking at him.

There's always something weirdly raw about the last moment before Miliband speaks. David always feels a slightly disconcerting emptiness that only comes with a surge of adrenaline, an almost sickly high feeling, as if he's suddenly been dropped teetering onto the edge of a cliff and he could fall at any second. And he knows that Miliband, drawing in a breath to speak, is feeling exactly the same way.

Something about that thought jabs him sharply in the chest-that rawness, that ripped-open, on-the-edge feeling in both of them, sticking in both their throats at once-it makes him almost shiver, for some reason.

But Miliband's coming to the end of his question-"....Can he think of any times _he _might have done that?"

And they'e off, with David reciting every last promise they've bloody kept (a hell of a lot more than Brown ever kept when he was in office, much as Miliband hero-worships the man) and waits for the inevitable twisting of the words that will come from Miliband.

(They never look at each other, he realises as he sits down. Before PMQs, he and Miliband never look at each other. It's a strange thing to realise, especially when Miliband's already launching into his next point, but it's the first time he's noticed.)

"Come to think of it-" David inwardly groans at the tone of wonder in Miliband's voice. He _knows _that voice, is familiar with that voice-it's the one Miliband uses when he's sure he's seized on a big point-a big point, which, all too often for Miliband and rather wonderfully frequently for David, turns out to be a lot smaller than he'd imagined.

"I think he _might_ have broken a big promise quite recently" and David struggles desperately to bite back a grin at the sight of Miliband, clearly rather enjoying the feeling of holding the floor, and David runs over the answer briefly in his head-it's always helpful to him when Miliband is just blatantly _wrong._

It occurs to David that it's probably not entirely healthy to enjoy witnessing the humiliation of someone whose house he's visited. But then again, this is him and Miliband.

"...did he mean it?" Miliband is asking, deceptively wide-eyed and David shoots upright with the familiar stab of childish pleasure at the sight of someone being forced to sit down so he can speak.

Perhaps it's that or the residual annoyance and tension left over from waiting-sometimes, it seems as though he's spent his whole life waiting-for PMQs.

Maybe it's that but he ends up snapping the words onto the end of his reply. "-the mess left by _those two."_

He doesn't let himself regret it. Then again, these days, he doesn't let himself regret a lot of things. But, now Miliband's finger's in the air again, with that stupid wide-eyed look which always riles David and gets him sharpening his next point, determined not to let Miliband throw him off-course.

"So he _did_ mean it" Miliband's declaring and David has to bite his lip to stop himself from bursting into laughter. "Throw him out because he _broke his promise"_ and it's the same tone that Florence uses when she's been the victim of some great social injustice. (The last occurrence of this was the previous day, when Flo's voice had taken on the exact same plaintive tone as Miliband's, declaring _"Nancy said I don't look enough like Elsa!"_ in tones that had made David fervently wish for the sounds of braying MPs.)

"Now, what he_ ought_ to be saying, but _daren't-"_ Miliband's waving his hand about so wildly that David almost expects him to break into a Spanish dance. "Is that he made a _solemn promise_ and he broke it-"

David finds himself watching Miliband as he gesticulates. Something about the sheer volume of his voice, the way he's clearly flinging points all over the place, means part of him wants to burst out laughing as he watches, taking in the utter-utter _self-righteousness_ of Miliband's voice and another part feels a curious-a sense of-well-

It's more of a thought than a feeling. _Typical Miliband,_ and David almost wants to shake his head at him, feeling a strange warmth and a smile that's difficult to keep out of sight.

Miliband's now reading out some quote that he's supposed to have made at a nursing conference, years ago-David isn't too worried, he knows his record on the NHS, and as he gets up to throw a remark back, the statistics are ones he recites, almost off-bat. It's the second part of his answer he's looking forward to, that he's happy to fling back at Miliband.

"I've got a list of _his _broken promises-" And it doesn't matter whether he and Miliband are friends or not. There's an election in five months and he's not going to let Miliband wriggle out of all of his less moral moments-particularly when some of them still rankle.

So when his words are greeted with a barrage of jeers from the Labour benches, he just arches an eyebrow, knowing that will irritate them even more. "However long it takes..."

"I've got all day.." he drawls a few moments later, when the roaring fails to cease, and this time, aiming the words directly at Miliband, he says "And I can tell you, I'm looking forward to what comes next-" He turns away, directing his glasses at Miliband instead. "And I think he will be too."

He keeps his gaze averted from Miliband because right now, these mistakes of his rivals aren't things he can afford to forget. They're mistakes and they're mistakes he has to attack. Even if that means attacking the person who made them.

They might be some kind of friends, but the one thing he can never forget is the fact that Miliband is his opposition.

* * *

Ed listens to Cameron with the familiar spike of irritation rising, as Cameron being _Cameron, _reels off a list of promises Ed is supposed to have broken at some stage or another. He has to turn to Balls on one of them, confused, but Balls just shakes his head-which is rather annoying as it would be better for Ed to be clear on what he's defending himself against.

The urge to snap back is there, already sharpened in his chest, the urge to defend himself, to-to-

But it's _him _who's supposed to be asking the questions. Him, not Cameron.

No matter how Cameron has an irritating habit of making him almost forget that.

Across the chamber, Cameron's clearly building up to his big point-he always leaves it to the third point-

"Where's that one?" Cameron often manages to look together when he makes his point and it's hugely irritating. Ed used to sulkily tell himself that it was easy for Cameron to look unaffected because Cameron didn't have feelings, but it never worked. He's never quite been able to convince himself he truly hates Cameron, now he thinks of it.

"He said he'd stand up to the unions on public sector pay-" Cameron doesn't even look at him. "When has he_ ever_ done that?"

Ed takes in a deep breath and counts to ten. It doesn't work. He hates being reminded of the unions. Hates it because it brings back ghosts of 2010 and David's arms around his shoulders and that moment his brother had whispered "Well done" in his ear and they'd both pretended that he meant it.

He hates it and so maybe that's why when Cameron's eyes lock with his own, the words "And they run it more than ever" edged with laughter, ringing through the chamber, Ed's on his feet almost before Cameron's sat down and that urge to strike back is surging in his voice, even as he keeps it deliberately level.

"What he _ought to be saying but daren't-"_ He doesn't have to look to know that Balls is eyeballing Cameron. Sometimes, he wishes his Shadow Chancellor would do a little less eyeballing.

He keeps his eyes on Cameron this time. "Is that he made a solemn promise about no top-down reshuffles and he _broke it."_

The trouble with not defending himself, he thinks, knowing and hating that Cameron will have come to the same conclusion, is that it won't be just Cameron not answering that will sticks in everybody's heads. It might not be fair but that's the way it works and the worst part is that if he tries to answer, Cameron'll have a good time goading him about usually being keen to ask the questions.

"Mr. Speaker, when he said it-" he finishes, as he reaches the end of his point. "Did he mean it?"

What he doesn't expect is for Cameron to almost leap out of his seat.

"Yes, I _meant it-"_

The words are almost shouted and it gives him a shock. Not just figuratively-it feels as though something has been passed through his ribs, leaving his heart jumping in his chest. He's seen Cameron angry many times over the years, but for some reason, this time-

He knows Cameron's making a point, but he's a little too aware of his own heartbeat. Watching Cameron like this, gesticulating wildly, almost shouting, is weirdly exhilarating, sending a thrill through him, and underneath it, an almost mischievous current of glee at the thought that _he_ is the one to work Cameron up like this.

When Bercow calls for order, Ed has to lower his head, biting his lip as he struggles to hold back the laughter that's high in his throat (it's _not_ giggling, no matter what _anyone_ says). He's not even sure why he's laughing. There's an edge of humour in it but a little of it feels wild, high-pitched. That feeling of glee is still there and it's almost as though his mouth doesn't know what to do with it other than laugh.

"They bankrupted our economy-" He suddenly becomes aware of what Cameron is saying. "We know-" Cameron looks round. "We know that _Mrs._ Brown's Boys was a comedy-" Cameron's eyes meet his for the briefest of moments. _"Mr._ Brown's Boys-" His finger points at the Labour frontbenches. "Was a tragedy!"

Once again, it's a struggle not to laugh, but at least it's not just _him_ this time. He can still hear Balls almost shouting with laughter as he blurts out a line he's thought of vaguely but has never really put together-"He's obviously been visiting the David Mellor school of charm recently-"

It's when he sees Cameron's smirk that he starts laughing, desperately trying to signal to Bercow that he hasn't finished. He hasn't got the faintest idea how he can go from bloody _shouting_ with anger at Cameron, to half-helpless with mirth just at the sight of Cameron _laughing_ and he wonders madly if it can be quite healthy.

* * *

David finds himself watching Miliband laugh, struggling to reign in the worst of his own mirth. The David Mellor jibe was amusing, David will give him that-if a little practiced, but it's more the wide-eyed look that Miliband wears as he throws out his lines, as though he actually _believes_ that they come across as withering put-downs.

The strangest part is that the reason they don't work isn't always because the lines aren't good and as David makes his way through his own reply, his mind is still caught on Miliband's laughter.

It's not always that the lines aren't good. It's that they're said by Miliband. That's the constant factor, the common denominator.

And the worst and perhaps the best part of that is that David doesn't even mean it as an insult. It's just-

But he knows what he's saying and it's with relief and a sense of triumph that he turns to George. "And obviously-I can't reveal what's in the Chancellor's Autumn Statement, that wouldn't be proper-" He can feel the tightening of the argument in his chest, the sheer high of it making his words faster. "But I make a prediction, Mr. Speaker-"

Bercow calls for order-David swears he does it sometimes, just to annoy him-and by the time he stands up, the words are in his mouth and yes, he knows they're on the childish side, but they'll get a laugh and he'll tell himself that's the main reason he says them.

"I simply make this prediction, Mr. Speaker-" He glances at his party behind him, already feeling the laughter about to break through the words. "In a moment or two-" He can feel his smile already breaking out. "He will be looking _as_ awkward as when he ate that bacon sandwich."

Laughter explodes around him but it's Miliband's eyes he meets with a grin of his own. Miliband's shaking his head , but that smile is there, the one he wears whenever one of their arguments has gone so far that both of them know they're coming out with sheer nonsense and both of them are enjoying it far too much.

Miliband's shaking his head with that grin, succumbing to the shared mirth himself now, and he raises his shoulders in a slight shrug as David meets his eyes. He's not sure if the shrug is meant for Miliband or himself or both of them, but he's shaking with laughter now too, and it's then that their eyes meet, Miliband's creased in a grin as he mouths "Really?"

Something seems to lurch a little then, as if something's jolted into place and David can't help the laughter that cracks his voice in two now, dissolves whatever point he was trying to make. "Oh yes-" he manages, their eyes still locked as Miliband arches an eyebrow before David's mouth twitches and they both crumble into laughter again, the arguments scattered around the two of them for a moment as they both laugh, on opposite sides of the chamber, their eyes roaming back again and again to each other's, their gazes finally clutching and holding back together.

* * *

Ed can't help but laugh. It's such a typically Cameron line, but something in the grin Cameron's giving him as their eyes meet, something in the way Cameron seemingly struggles to contain his own laughter, makes him shake his head because-this is something that is so _typical_ of them and he knows it all too well.

"Really?" he mouths at Cameron, the next time they lock eyes and it's Cameron's little splutter of "Oh yes-" that makes Ed laugh even harder, even as their eyes meet again, though he's quite sure that neither of them mean to look at each other this time.

Cameron's back on track now, listing everything that Ed's ever predicted wrongly about his premiership (and there are rather more than Ed would like, though he'd never tell Cameron that) and it's easier to bite his lip now, as Cameron rallies his backbenchers.

_"He_ said it was a fantasy that the private sector would create the jobs-"

_"Wrong!"_

_"He_ said we would choke off jobs and growth-"

_"Wrong!"_

"The fact is-" Cameron can barely be heard now over the roars of his backbenchers. "They told us there would be a lost decade-" He's not looking at Ed and somehow that irritates him, the same as the unintentional David does whenever it slips out.

"They told us there would be a double-dip recession-" And now Cameron's turning, his eyes narrowing, the humour fading now. _"They have been wrong on every single economic issue."_

The tone makes it far easier for Ed to spit out his retort, irritation turning to anger, and he doesn't let himself think about who it's aimed at.

"He's failed _every test he set himself-"_ He has to lower his head because even under the anger, there's still laughter clawing out his throat and that's even more irritating.

Perhaps it's the weird mixture of laughter and indignation (typical that it'd be Cameron who makes him feel like this) that makes his next words louder. "And the thing about this Prime Minister-"

It's easier because of that-calling Cameron Prime Minister. It always makes it feel a little more distant, a little less personal, and for a moment at least, they can try to believe that.

(Or he can.)

"It's that he's turned breaking promises into _an art form-"_ He fixes his gaze on Cameron, makes himself look at Cameron.

And Cameron just smirks back.

That makes it a little easier to spit the next words out.

"And as the election approaches, there's one thing the British people will remember about this Prime Minister-" He stares at Cameron, the words climbing louder now. "It's that when he says it, _he doesn't mean it."_

Cameron's up immediately, still smirking a little, which is downright infuriating. But Cameron doesn't look ruffled-more a little disdainful, even as he doesn't look at Ed.

His voice isn't disdainful though, but that, thinks Ed furiously, might make the points even stronger. Not for the first time, he feels a bitter stab of resentment over the fact that it's always Cameron commanding the note on which their exchanges finish, _his _words the two of them go out on every week.

"What a contrast-" Even when he's wrong, Cameron never seems ruffled. It's as if it's easy for him to just shake the words off, as if they're of no consequence to him whatsoever. "This is a Prime Minister and this is a government that has turned our economy round-" Cameron's stabbing his finger down with each point.

"Sorted out public finances-" There are more cheers-"And got the economy going." Cameron leans forward and Ed braces himself, familiar with the signs of an imminent attack.

"And no-one-" Cameron's leaning on his elbow now, turning towards Ed, other hand now pointing across the chamber. "No-one will ever forget that they are the people who sold the gold, who broke the economy-" Cameron's facing him now and Ed forces himself to stare back. "Who bankrupted the nation and_ still _they sit there-" Cameron's words are spat now, edged with contempt, and Ed feels something like a flinch.

Cameron stares right at him now. "Completely hopeless and unelectable." The words ring in the air and Cameron almost glowers at him and this time, Ed almost shrinks a little, a jolt of shock shaking him at the venom in the tone.

He knows he's been just as harsh with Cameron. He knows that this is something that is always going to be part-and-parcel of him and Cameron, no matter how many parties they attend, how well their children get on, how often Cameron falls asleep on-

It doesn't matter because there will always be this. Another Wednesday. Every Wednesday. And there underneath everything they do or say to each other, tainting the words for the next five months, and then-

And then it will be even worse.

But there'll be this. There might be smiles and parties and shared grins and bedtime stories, but there will always be this.

Ed watches as Cameron sinks into his seat, shuffling his papers. He stares for a few minutes at the top of Cameron's bent head, even as the voices babble around him, Harriet and Balls and the rest. He stares at Cameron, the other man's words still ringing.

Cameron looks up and meets Ed's gaze. He stares back and there's none of the laughter there was a few moments ago, crackling in the air between them. Laughter's dissolved into something else, harsher and angrier, the way it so often does, whether they like it or not.

Cameron stares back at him, gaze hard and unflinching. They stare at each other for a moment, anger and something else hardening in the air between them, and this time it's Ed who drops his eyes first. Even as he hates himself for it, it's Ed who looks away.

* * *

He says it on a whim, really. It's not something they've rehearsed or a line they've scripted beforehand.

He's already got in a line to Robertson, who as usual is more concerned with Scotland than anything else, and he sobers a little when he's reminded of Sophie Lancaster and he means it when he promises to meet with her family's foundation as soon as possible.

And then Clyndon starts on about the deficit and David's simply not having that because they've got George's statement in a few minutes and that'll shut all of them up-but he can remember something Balls came out with and he has to point it out. It's as he's speaking that it comes into his head and he's saying it before he can think twice about it.

"But I would like to highlight something the Shadow Chancellor said this week-" He looks around at his backbenchers. "He said that he would be tough on the deficit and tough on the _causes_ of the deficit."

Balls is nodding and Miliband's watching him quietly, with his head tilted to one side. His lips twitch into a small smile but David's already launching into the line he's just seized on.

"As he _is _one of the causes of the deficit, I think we've just found the first ever instance of political masosadism."

He's realised he's messed up the last word before he sits down, but the cheers and laughter are breaking out anyway and not just from their side of the chamber. In amongst it are a few shouts of _"Sadomasochism!"_ -Angela Eagle's pointing at him so vigorously that David's tempted to ask how she has such detailed knowledge on the subject, but then someone would probably complain and he does have George laughing next to him, as Bercow calls for order.

The babble continues unchecked until Bercow, raising his voice a little, calls "Order, we all know what the Prime Minister meant-!" David reflects that this is one of the few times Bercow has favoured his side.

He glances over at Miliband and Balls then, feeling that grin dance around his mouth. Balls-to give him some credit-Balls is grinning, raising an eyebrow at David across the chamber-and Miliband-

Miliband is staring at him, his brow furrowed. He's not frowning, exactly. He looks-well-David feels himself frown a little as Bercow calls someone else to speak, shouting now for calm as the tide of chatter rises around them. He's staring at David, head tilted to the side, his lips a little parted. There's an almost dazed look on his face as if he's been hit and just hasn't realised it yet.

Something about the way Miliband stares for a few moments more, without even dragging his gaze away, that dazed look in his eyes-

Something about it makes David's thoughts scramble a little for some reason and he can't quite help but bite his lip, confusion suddenly rising into his thoughts, covering his words. All in all, it's a relief that the next question comes from one of his own backbenchers.

* * *

It's as Cameron turns to look at one of his backbenchers that next to Ed, Balls pulls out his mobile phone and snorts. "Even fucking better. Cameron got it wrong." He looks positively gleeful at the thought.

Ed tries to sound as calm and coherent as possible. "What do you mean?"

It's not easy. Ever since Cameron made that stupid comment, Ed's been trying to concentrate but for some reason, the words just stick in his head every time he looks at Cameron. They seem to be thickening his tongue, jumbling his speech and he doesn't even know _why._

Balls snorts and glances at the phone again. "Mate just texted. Said Cameron meant sadomasochism. Where you like taking it and giving it-" Off Ed's uncomprehending look, Balls snorts. "Pain, Miliband. As in, giving and receiving pain. In sex."

Ed feels the blood rush to his cheeks and cursing himself, he glances down quickly. Balls, of course, being Balls, doesn't take a hint.

"Bloody hell, Miliband, don't tell me you didn't _know-"_

"Of course I _knew."_ Ed tries to sound dismissive but it comes out as more of a question and on his left, Angela too seems to be struggling to hide a smile.

Balls leans over, laughter hot against Ed's ear. "Camera'll be on in a minute. You look like a blushing bloody virgin."

This, of course, immediately exacerbates the problem. Ed glares furiously at Balls, who just smirks back.

Cameron's up again speaking and Ed's gaze swings back to him, which he regrets almost immediately. Cameron's speaking again, laughing a little, with a flush to his own cheeks. Ed's brain catches a few little details at once, even as he feels the heat rise even more to his own-the way Cameron sounds out "Magnificent" in that ridiculously irritating Etonian way, the way he shakes his head a little, almost self-deprecating, even as he looks so at ease. People laughing with him, not at him.

"Can I just make clear-" Cameron's suddenly grinning again, his cheeks a little flushed, the look almost schoolboyish. "I _meant_ to say masochism-" There's renewed laughter, most notably from Balls next to him.

Ed stares across the chamber, a part of him wanting to smile, another part of him scrabbling for words, as Cameron gives him a fleeting grin. There's a confusion and taking in Cameron's almost mischievous look, Ed feels that confusion war with a desperate urge to laugh and the anger he felt earlier, which somehow serves to sharpen all of it-

Balls is still laughing hard next to him, completely unaware of Ed's utter turmoil of thoughts, as Cameron aims another grin at them, which leaves Ed even more confused this time. "I've often said that the Shadow Chancellor likes to dish it out-" Cameron gives them another little grin which leaves Ed feeling strangely wrong-footed. "But after today, I think he quite likes taking it as well."

Ed stares at him. "Eh?" He hears his own voice and realises he's spoken aloud, his mind swimming with _take it_ and _masochism _and Cameron's bloody _grin._

Next to him, still sniggering, Balls lifts up his hand and mimes flicking something forward, making a "-chh-" sound. For a moment, Ed wonders what on earth he's doing, and then, watching his movements, realises he's miming a whip.

The realisation sends a shock through Ed and then seeing Balls aim it at Cameron somehow-somehow just-

Ed's confused. He's hopelessly, utterly confused but-more than that-his brain is suddenly taken up with _whips _and _Cameron_ and-he can't help pressing his lips together, striving to keep his face free of expression.

Cameron's still grinning, even as Ed wonders madly why on earth he's feeling like this. He's blushing and nervous and every time he thinks the word whips, his brain scrambles with the utter absurdity of the image.

Cameron's still laughing a little, glancing across at them and then at Bercow. "I think we've all learnt a lot today" he says and that maddeningly makes Ed want to laugh and at the same time leaves him scrambling for words. For coherence. For anything.

Cameron goes on about Shrewsbury and Balls sniggers next to him and Ed sits there, cheeks burning, thoughts spinning with whips and Cameron and why on earth he feels so flustered, as if he's been caught out somehow.

* * *

George isn't as nervous as he used to be commencing his statement but it still isn't his favourite moment. He glances at David next to him and David touches his arm. "You'll be fine" he says, voice low, obviously aware of the fact they're on camera. "Balls is your competition, after all."

George can't help but grin. He eyes Balls across the chamber and for a moment, their gazes meet. Balls' mouth twitches in amusement and, for the fraction of a second, they share a grin.

George has always been aware that he and Balls share a simpler relationship than David does with Miliband. He's not entirely sure why, but he's never hated Ed Balls. Even in their years of technically being rivals, they've never seemed to have trouble passing the time of day when they meet in a corridor or even having a few drinks together after a long night debating over some bill or at an economics conference, where they both enjoy scrutinising the other guests a little too much. George thinks it might be down to the fact they've known each other so long. In his earliest days in the Tory party, he'd been aware of Balls striding around the Treasury, all too often bellowing over a desk or down a phone at some poor unfortunate aide who'd vexed him.

He'd never been scared himself. He's not entirely sure why, even now. Perhaps years of teasing and private school etiquette have had a better effect than he realises but whatever the reason, George has never found himself dreading his encounters with the then-bespectacled, permanently shouting Brownite. Maybe the fact that the first time he and Balls got into a shouting match, they'd already known each other pretty well, but even their arguments had been political, and somehow hadn't come up again in their conversations later on at the Portcullis bar or in a discreet restaurant. If they were brought up, it was through raised eyebrows and remarks thrown casually back and forth, with none of the anger that would fuel their political disagreements.

George isn't sure why he and Balls have always been able to separate political from personal so easily. Then again, he is married to Frances, who once upon a time was best friends with Miliband's wife, of all people, so maybe it shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is.

Then again, it's not as if he's the one who's best friends with _Miliband._ If you could call what David and Miliband have a friendship.

George is shaken from that thought by Bercow calling for order. He shuffles his notes, takes a deep breath, and David touches his arm. "Go on, George."

When Bercow calls his name, George gets up, the cheers of their backbenchers ringing at his back. His eyes flicker to Balls for a moment and Balls gives the tiniest nod, the nod that always means the personal, for now, is being wiped away-that this is political, and that the next time they talk, the only way this will carry over is in the usual back-and-forth that they're used to.

He wonders very briefly why something feels so different in David and Miliband's dynamic but then the chamber falls silent and he draws in a breath, glancing down at the first line of his speech.

"Mr. Speaker." He lets the words hover for a moment. "Four years ago, in the first Autumn Statement of this Parliament, I presented the accounts of an economy in crisis.."

* * *

David keeps his eyes on his paper as George launches into his speech. He lets his gaze rest on his papers for a few moments but it's as George mentions the deficit that David can't help but raise his gaze to Miliband's side of the room. He finds Miliband staring back at him and raises his eyebrows meaningfully, feeling a rush of pride in George's work even before it's been revealed to the rest of the world. He widens his eyes, feeling a stab of triumph at everything they've succeeded in.

Because he_ is_ proud of it. He's got every bloody right to be and so have George and Danny.

That's what helps him to keep his gaze fixed on George's back for the next several minutes, nodding whenever George reaches a point that they've agreed should be particularly emphasised.

It's times like these that he particularly appreciates the bond between him and George-he knows without having to ask, that George can sense these nods, this support at his back and he knows, without George having to tell him, that it makes giving this speech a little easier.

"Look at them" he mutters to Stephen next to him and Crabb chuckles quietly, his own eyes now fixed on the Labour benches.

"There was no recession in this Parliament-" George is now saying. "No double-dip. Indeed, the only recession-" He sweeps his eyes across the Labour front benches. "Was the _great-"_ the slightest stress on the word-"recession under the last Labour government."

There's a round of cheers from backbenchers and several on the frontbenches and it's perfectly acceptable to look at Miliband now.

He's laughing-which is no great surprise-but something about the laughter is unusual. David can't quite put his finger on it. Miliband might be trying to look dismissive-a task he very rarely succeeds in-but there's nothing triumphant. In fact, Miliband seems to be keeping his gaze on his knees, tilting his head as that little smile clings stubbornly to his mouth, in laughter that looks almost like giggling.

It then occurs to David that it probably won't look very impressive if the Prime Minister appears more interested in the Leader of the Opposition than his own Chancellor's statement. He drags his gaze back to George and resumes listening, a little more carefully now than he was before.

He can't resist joining in with the pointing when George brings up France but that little smirk is still there at Miliband's mouth and David drags his gaze away, not wanting to think about why it might get caught.

It's remarkably easy to keep nodding along and at several points he has to resist the urge to pat George on the back. He loves these moments of pride and it's times like this that he marvels at the incredible fortune of being able to call his Chancellor his friend.

It's not just George he's feeling proud of. He glances at Danny, seated further down the bench and feels a surge of affection. Danny glances back at him and, with a small smile, mouths "All right?" David nods with a grin and turns back to the fracas.

It's easy to forget, he thinks, as he, Danny and Stephen exchange whispered remarks as George goes on with his statement, that this time next year, the dynamics may be entirely altered. That, in fact, this time next year, none of them may be sitting here at all.

He can picture the look on George's face when Labour erupt in frantic jeers-that almost schoolboyish triumphant grin that crooks his mouth as he looks round once again at the Labour benches. He has to fight not to cheer himself and for a moment struggles with the urge not to throw his arm around George's shoulders, the same way he used to do at school when one of his teammates had scored a century.

He can't resist gesturing at Miliband and Balls to sit down-it's another jab of triumph in his chest and taking in the sight of Miliband and Balls poring anxiously over Balls' notes sends another-though the sight of Miliband's brow furrowed leaves a pang of something else, something that could confuse him.

But even Bercow's interruptions today are good for them, and David at one point finds himself seized with the truly bizarre urge to thank the Speaker. As it is, he feels his mood lifting more and more throughout George's speech.

Perhaps it's that confidence that leaves his eyes straying to Miliband once again. He snatches little glances, sometimes catching Miliband's eye for the briefest of seconds, before they both glance away. David fixes his gaze to his left several times or on George's back but, inevitably, his gaze ends up back on Miliband.

He can't resist when it comes to the EU budget cut-when George refers to "some people's predictions" David, with rather the same thrill of mischief he'd felt earlier, throwing his line at Balls, points at Miliband and Balls, knowing that not just they, but the cameras too, will pick up on the gesture. "That was _you"_ he says, too quietly to be heard but clearly enough to be seen and interpreted and documented, and the triumph is stronger now, even as he can't stop the glee breaking through with it-that familiar schoolyard-ish triumph of _We were right_. Miliband's mouth twitches and something about the look-as though Miliband has just barely restrained himself from smiling back-makes it even harder for David to wipe the grin off his own face.

The triumph is stoked higher and higher as George elaborates on inheritance tax exemption, VAT, and tax avoidance and it's times like this that David feels proud. It's George's moment-of course, it's George's moment. And it's a pride that's collective, a surge of pride in_ them_, all that _they've _accomplished. _This._ They did it.

It's one of the more enjoyable parts of being Prime Minister.

* * *

Ed Balls has never hated Osborne, which is actually pretty bloody inconvenient. But the fact of the matter is, right from their early days, he's never hated Osborne. The Tory with the irritatingly dark eyes and irritatingly sharp intellect, which managed to impress even Ed. (And _he'd _been the leader writer for the _Financial bloody Times_, for God's sake.)

But it had been the sheer quickness of Osborne; the sharpness and what had begun as a downright aggravating ability to wriggle his way out of tight spots with figures that had first got Ed grudgingly-very grudgingly-admiring the man. He wasn't the only one-even Gordon had commented, on one occasion, watching Osborne laugh with Hague, "Pity that one's a Tory. If they ever get into power, he could be their saving grace."

Back then, the Conservatives getting into power was a what-if scenario.

But now, watching him across the dispatch box, Ed has to admit-through gritted teeth-that Gordon might well have been right. And in more ways than one.

"We on this side of the House-" Osborne looks around at the expected surge of jeers from the Labour benches and smirks. "Well, Mr. Speaker, we on this side of the House-" he looks round-"Have often gazed at the barren and desolate wastelands of the Red Planet-"

The expected laughter breaks out, as Osborne smirks and Cameron chortles like a child that's just been tickled. Ed keeps his eyes on his papers, fighting back his own smirk, but he allows himself one quick flicker of eye contact with Osborne.

It was a bloody good line. And he'll tell Osborne so later, if they have enough drinks.

It's then that he glances at Miliband and feels the smile slide away.

"And we've long given up hope of finding intelligent life there-" Osborne looks as though he's anticipating moving on to even better wit and Ed drags his gaze away from Miliband and tries not to smirk.

Osborne's still gazing round. "But sighs of_ any_ life at all would be a _major_ advance-"

Ed bites his lip then, the way he often catches himself doing, irritatingly, around Osborne but next to him, Miliband is doing much the same. And that's enough for Ed to sober up a little, because Miliband's gaze isn't on Osborne and that reminds Ed all too clearly of what he saw a few moments ago.

Cameron had been laughing, certainly, but his gaze hadn't been on his Chancellor. It had been fixed, just for a few seconds, on Miliband. And Miliband's had been fixed on him.

It had only been for a few seconds and then Cameron had glanced away. Now, watching him across the Chamber, Ed's struck by how very determinedly Cameron is looking in the other direction, his cheeks still flushed.

Miliband's gaze hovers on Cameron, but the second Cameron's gaze roams back-as though he's momentarily forgotten himself-Miliband's drops away. Little, snatched glances pass between them, always darting away before their eyes can meet.

If their eyes meet, they keep watching.

Ed watches and frowns.

When Osborne finally finishes-Ed's sure he could have been a lot quicker if he hadn't spent so much time grinning while the Tories cheered like monkeys being given electric shocks, wishful though that thinking is-Ed watches Cameron greet his Chancellor with several pats on the shoulder, and Osborne give Cameron a grin. While Ed wouldn't claim to know Cameron well-he grimaces at the fucking thought-he's fairly sure everyone's aware of the fact Cameron and Osborne are practically waltzing around wearing bloody friendship bracelets. Even back in their early days as MPs, it was obvious-where Cameron went, Osborne went. And, Ed has to admit, vice versa.

Bercow makes a quick announcement and then it's Ed's turn. He gets up, Miliband muttering a quick "Good luck" to him and then he's leaning on the dispatch box facing Cameron and Osborne.

Cameron's smirking-of course he is-and it's not at him. He widens his eyes at someone and Ed turns to see what he'd already guessed-Miliband staring back at Cameron. His eyes roam away for a moment as Douglas mutters something to him and then back again to Cameron, who's still smirking, gaze fixed on Miliband.

Miliband seems to almost drag his eyes away and before Ed can say anything, Bercow's calling for order again.

* * *

Ed struggles to keep his gaze away from Cameron. It should be easier than it is.

"I'm well aware of the old ruse-" Bercow's saying, laughter creeping into his voice. "Of people sitting under the gangway where they think I can't see them-and yelling their heads off-"

Ed's used to listening to Bercow and he tells himself that's the only reason he glances at Cameron, even as an outbreak of yelling greets Bercow's accusation of "Stupidly following the orders of others-"

Cameron always looks irritatingly unruffled, Ed thinks furiously. No matter what Ed says to him, he always looks as though it's just another bloody joke, another thing to laugh about in his office-and it just means Ed reaches even more for the times he does get under Cameron's skin, for the times when the two of them are almost shouting, their breath harsh in the air between them.

It's as Balls gets up and starts speaking that Ed tries to fix his gaze firmly on his Shadow Chancellor's back, nodding as Balls leads into his first question.

He can't help his gaze flickering to Cameron a few times as Balls speaks, a few more times than he should, and at one point, Douglas bumps his shoulder gently. It seems to be accidental but Ed can't help the nagging suspicion that it was to attract his attention and he immediately fixes his gaze more firmly on Balls.

He might be looking at his Shadow Chancellor but his mind hovers, irritatingly enough, on that bloody camaraderie between Cameron and Osborne. The pats on the shoulder, the shared smiles, the way, even now-Ed's grabbed another glance at them before he can stop himself-as Cameron pulls out a pen, clearly helping Osborne with his notes, they're smiling, Cameron even shaking his head a little pityingly, as though simply struggling to find anything of interest in what Balls has to say. Something about it's so utterly infuriating that Ed has to grit his teeth to stop himself muttering something rather unparliamentary.

That brings his mind back to that whipping gesture which has him hastily fixing his gaze back on Balls because the thought of that brings back that jolting sense of not knowing where to look, what to do with his hands, the heat rising in his cheeks-suddenly, he doesn't dare look at Cameron, and he finds himself biting his lip, mind dwelling a little too closely on the whole idea of whips and chains and his hands crawl nervously to his knees.

It's after Bercow asks for order again that Balls says "They'll be out next year, Mr. Speaker" and Ed has to look at Cameron then, with a surge of rather smug vindication at the memory of Cameron's mouthing and waving at him earlier-and he can't help grinning, even as Cameron arches an eyebrow. Ed arches one back, their gazes meeting for almost too long, almost long enough for Ed to forget that he's smiling at a man whose Chancellor's Statement they're currently supposed to be destroying.

He tries to watch Balls-he really does, but it's the looks on Cameron and Osborne's faces that are getting to him. It doesn't matter how often he tells himself that it's only a matter of time now, that they'll be walking into Downing Street soon, making the changes to help people. It doesn't matter, because it doesn't even seem to bother Cameron. And though he tells himself that's because Cameron doesn't care, a niggling part of his brain can't help but wonder if Cameron's watching them pityingly, Crosby and the rest of them working together behind the scenes to come up with something else, some other plan to turn all of Ed and Labour's best intentions upside down, to stop them ever getting anywhere where they can make a difference.

He hates the thoughts but he can't shake them.

Maybe that's the reason he finds it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off Cameron for the rest of the speech-though he does take the opportunity to fully reciprocate Cameron's attempts at mouthing at him earlier. It gives him a rush of almost schoolboy glee but at the same time sharpens that confusion that's been rising steadily throughout the whole speech. He mouths "That was _your lot"_ to Cameron when Balls references something that was_ clearly _the Tories' fault, and then Cameron just arches an eyebrow and smirks.

Ed can't help but grin and that just makes him more annoyed because he should be furious at Cameron, people are suffering and starving and begging and all he can do is sit there, smirking-

And a part of him is-

But at the same time-

He can't explain it and that annoys him even more.

When Balls finishes his speech, Ed makes sure to pat him on the shoulders and back and finds himself hoping it looks as natural for him as when Cameron did it to Osborne. He even throws an arm around Balls' shoulders on a whim and feels Balls stiffen in surprise before he gives Ed a rather bemused smile. Ed awkwardly pats his shoulder a few more times-he and Balls have never really had an overly tactile relationship.

But Osborne's already getting back up again, almost lazily, and it's so easy to forget that this is the same man he was smiling with at a fireworks party less than a month ago. It's easier still when he sees that smug smile hovering at Osborne's mouth and feels that irritation coil tight in his chest, the same way it does when Cameron wears that expression, because it always feels as though there's some joke Ed isn't in on, something he's missed-

"Mr. Speaker-" and that smug grin's twitching at Osborne's mouth. "With that performance, we have just seen why_ he_ is totally unfit in five months' time to be put in charge of the nation's finances."

It's not so much the words that knock Ed, though he'd never let any of them see it. It's the dismissive tone, the smirk, the almost arrogant curl of the lip-Osborne sounds like he already knows he's won.

"And we got an object lesson-" Osborne's waving his finger about now, and Ed glares, knowing he can't even criticise him, because it's a habit he himself has. "In how not to plan your Autumn Statement reply, before you've actually _heard_ the Autumn Statement." Osborne stabs the air with each word and somehow, Ed knows then, just _knows_ that that's what they'll plaster over the headlines, and that's what half the Tories will still be quoting by the time the bloody election comes around. And, looking at Cameron and Osborne's grins, they both know it.

The sudden surge of bitterness catches even Ed off-guard. He adjusts his papers, wanting to chew at his lip but refusing to give the Tories the bloody satisfaction of seeing it.

Osborne's on a roll now, using all of Balls' visits to the TV studios and Ed could wince. He can already picture Tom's face watching this and his fingers tighten on his sleeve, a mixture of anger and bitterness roiling in his chest.

He wishes he could say something, as Osborne happily blows holes in Balls' whole reply. Ed wants to half-scream at everyone listening that Osborne's just covering for all the valid weaknesses Balls has just pointed out, that of_ course_ they've made mistakes in it because they had to construct a reply based on what they thought would be in the statement, and then Osborne goes and bloody _changes _it-

And Ed knows that the Tories will hammer that point in right up until the sun sets on election night.

And even though he wants to shake everyone and tell them that it doesn't _matter _that they got some things wrong because-because they'll-

The Tories might get the little details but-but Labour-

Labour will help, they'll listen and they'll_ try_, for God's sake, try the same way they've always been trying, since the days all those years ago, crouched at the door of his father's study, listening to the same voice that told him bedtime stories arguing about the future of socialism-

And how to make things better. For everyone, not just a few.

But Osborne's listing Labour members now, ones who've said anything even vaguely derogatory about him or Balls or Labour in the last few weeks and even though he tells himself it doesn't mean anything, each name still feels like a punch to the ribs, whispers of doubt creeping into his mind-which is probably exactly what Osborne wants.

Watching Cameron laugh, his whole head tilting back, as Osborne reads one quote of "completely bonkers"-that makes it far easier not to grin. He doesn't feel remotely like trading smiles with Cameron now and yet-

He doesn't understand it. They can stand in a party, at a fireworks display, sit on a train-Ed feels colour tickle his cheeks at the memory-but in there, they're-

"I'll kill him" Balls mutters, and even that can't make Ed smile right now-

They're like this.

There's something almost despairing settling between Ed's ribs and he hates it.

"People say, Mr. Speaker-" Osborne's pointing at the air now for emphasis. "There's a split in the leadership of the Labour Party, and they're quite right." Osborne looks up at them and smirks. "It's between the people who get the deficit figures completely wrong and the people who forget about the deficit altogether."

Ed feels the words like a punch in the gut, because even though he should be waiting for that, he should have known-how?_ How_ could he have forgotten it, why had it been _that, _that of all things, which he had to-

Cameron tilts his head back and laughs and for some reason, that's the worst part of all.

He shouldn't be dwelling on it but it is there, gnawing in the back of his mind the entire time Osborne's speaking. That image of Cameron, laughing, is there under everything he whispers to Balls, every word of Osborne's, and Ed hates it more with each second.

By the time Osborne gets onto the QE2 centre and the St. James' Park restaurant (and they were stupid, stupid ideas obviously, and Osborne had deliberately pulled out the worst ideas he could find, ones they'd probably have dropped anyway, but they're out there now), Ed knows there'll be some quip to expect, some punchline, but he still doesn't relish the moment when Osborne leans forward and says, with that smirk "Their economic plan is, quite literally, _out to lunch."_

Cheers break out and Ed knows immediately that that will be the headline. Cameron's laughing and Ed's almost thankful that he doesn't want to keep watching him right now. Instead, he glances at Balls, who looks as though he's barely restraining himself from leaping at Osborne with great difficulty.

"Ed" Ed mutters, but Balls ignores him, glowering at Osborne. Ed briefly muses on where on earth Osborne and Balls will end up later, and has a momentary pang of pity for all the glasses unaware that their time has come to be thrown.

Osborne's finishing his speech now and, as always, Ed finds himself watching with a kind of horrified fascination.

"They haven't got a _clue_ how to do that."

Another smile.

"They don't have a plan-"

That's when Balls begins gesturing like a lunatic and Ed can just see Cameron's smirk deepening. But it'll look even worse if he's caught telling Balls to stop, so all he can do is stare straight ahead.

"Their _whole response_ today shows they would take Britain back to square one-" Osborne's eyes are roaming past Balls now, settling in on Ed himself. Ed stares back at him, suddenly horribly unsure where this is going.

"Britain has pulled itself out of the economic crisis-" Osborne points with his pen. "That_ he_ created-" Ed freezes. Osborne meets his gaze then-his, not Balls'.

"And we're _not _going to let him take us back there." And with that, Osborne sits down, to another pat on the back from Cameron.

To Ed's right, Douglas clearly gropes for words. To his left, Balls is seething. Ed just sits there, that pen still wavering in front of his eyes, the words still ringing in his ears.

_Economic crisis. That he created. We are not going to let him take us back._

Osborne's eyes fixed on him. Him, not Balls.

The papers might report it as being aimed at Balls. Osborne might even claim it was aimed at Balls. But the image of that pen, pointing directly at him, is sticking in Ed's mind. And if it sticks in his mind-then who else's-

Ed was wrong, he realises suddenly. The words were aimed at Balls, true.

But, Ed knows horribly, without question, they were meant for himself.

* * *

Lynton sighs as George sits down again, David patting his elbow. He knows David's done well-they've managed to stay on message and that's the main thing for Lynton. Then again, there's the other thing.

And the other thing happens to be ringing his phone right now.

Lynton sighs and, bracing himself, picks up the phone. "Yes, Baldwin, your man did fuck up spectacularly. Anything else?"

"Fuck you, Crosby." Lynton bites back a grin. He hears something thump on the floor at the other end and then something that sounds like Baldwin pacing. "I'm going to fucking talk to Ed."

Lynton sits up, eyes flickering sharply to Oliver and Craig, who are both tapping away on their laptops. "What are you talking about? Giving Miliband a lecture on how to eat a bloody sandwich correctly-"

Baldwin makes a sound like a growl and it's then that there's something that sounds like a tussle on the other end of the phone.

"Lynton?" It's Roberts' voice, which tells Lynton that Baldwin's probably preoccupied himself with tearing his hair out or some other useful task. "Look-Tom-Ed's a little-I mean, you saw today-"

"He fucking laughed at the bacon sandwich thing-" Baldwin's clearly yelling over Roberts' shoulder. "For God's sake-and I know you're probably fucking thrilled, Crosby-"

Lynton shoots a grin at Craig and Oliver, who are both smirking now. Oliver, lounging in his chair, gives Lynton a thumbs-up.

"And I know you're probably fucking grinning at Oliver and Letwin right now-"

"Not at all." Lynton shoves another thumbs up at Oliver, before he leans back in his chair. "Why exactly do you want to deliver a lecture to your fearless leader?"

Baldwin makes another explosive sound and it's Roberts who says, voice carefully level, "We're not going to lecture him. We're just going to ask him not to seem so-friendly with Cameron in Prime Minister's Questions-"

"Jesus Christ." Lynton lets his head fall back against the chair. "One minute we're asking them to get on better, now we're asking them for a few more insults, why don't we just arrange a bloody marriage yet-"

"Oh, shut up-" He can practically see Baldwin's snarl and it's a happy image.

It's Roberts who says, "We don't have a problem with Ed and Cameron being friendly outside of PMQs-"

_"You_ might not" Lynton hears Baldwin mutter. Roberts ignores him.

"It's just-with an election coming up, anyone who watches PMQs-well, they're going to be watching Ed and Cameron, aren't they?"

Lynton arches an eyebrow at Craig, who nods, conceding the point. Lynton grabs a piece of paper and scribbles quickly as Roberts talks.

"They'll be looking for differences between them-what one says, what the other stands for-"

"I do know this, Roberts. I have won elections. Quite well, as it happens." He throws the pen down, and holds the piece of paper up so Craig and Oliver can read it. _Their guy's ratings are in the toilet and they're panicking. _Craig smirks and gives him another thumbs-up.

"The point is-" Roberts sighs. "If they just see Ed-or Cameron-laughing their heads off at each other, they're going to think they don't take this seriously-"

Lynton sighs, pulls off his glasses.

"And then they'll think they're not taking the issues seriously, or that there isn't a pin to put between them-"

Lynton doesn't have a problem with David being friendly with Miliband-far from it, he knows it can only increase public approval, paint David Cameron as a good guy, the one who doesn't make rivalries personal, however far from or near it is to the truth-but he knows all too well David can appear a bit too diffident at times, a little too unaffected by the whole thing.

It might be an illusion but it's one they can't afford.

Lynton certainly isn't prepared to let the campaign they've been working on, spearheading, wrestling with since the days of 2012, be destroyed by, of all things, a bloody _illusion._

He casts a glance at Oliver who, looking thoughtful, nods once. "Fair point" he says quietly.

Lynton looks at him sharply and then turns back to the phone. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing drastic. We're-" Roberts laughs. "We don't give a damn about the headlines-in fact, they're pretty good for both sides if they're friendly, to be honest. We're perfectly happy with the-" He laughs suddenly and Lynton rolls his eyes. "The whole best buddies thing can continue, fine, no problem-it's just, in PMQs-be a little less best friends. More, I-despise-your-policies."

Lynton says nothing for a few moments. Then, abruptly, he sits up straight. "Fine. Your job to save Miliband's career. But the best of friends thing isn't being dropped." He's careful to make sure his tone brooks no argument here. "It's good for both sides."

Lynton knows about not showing your hand and he grins when it's Roberts who says "I don't think-well, I don't think they'd be perfectly happy if we suggested dropping that, do you?"

Lynton purposefully doesn't say anything. If Roberts wants to give away his man's secrets, let him-it's only the better for the Tories. Lynton isn't about to do the same.

The fact he agrees makes it even more important that he stays quiet.

It's Baldwin who speaks then, and the words make Lynton grip the phone a little tighter. "Maybe that's the bloody problem."

Lynton keeps his face carefully blank. On the other end of the phone, Roberts lets out a laugh that isn't as loud as usual, and Lynton manages a small smile, irked at the fact he's forcing a humour he can't quite feel.

The fact is, Baldwin's line might not have been as tongue-in-cheek as any of them had hoped.

* * *

Ed hadn't expected to see Cameron today-he knows that Cameron will already be sequestered away in his office with Oliver and Letwin and Crosby and Osborne and God knows who else, trying to anticipate a response to the Statement, while their advisers brief the press and probably check that most immediate and bizarre of all political reaction bases, known as Twitter.

In a way, it's an odd relief. There's a strange cocktail of emotions at the moment that comes with Cameron's name-anger still stabbing sharply underneath whenever he lingers on Cameron's words in their exchanges, amusement-downright _irritating_ amusement-that rises at Cameron's comebacks, which _might_ be humorous, but have _nothing to do with the question_ and that strange-strange _confusion_ that surges all at once when he thinks of _Cameron_ and _whips_, all wrapped up with that _grin_ he shot across at them.

By the time he gets into his office at Norman Shaw South, Ed's still trying to work out just how annoyed he is or isn't at Cameron, and when he sees Bob and Stewart there, both smiling a little too widely, his heart sinks. The last time they looked like that was when they told him the bacon sandwich photo had gone viral.

"What's happened?" he asks immediately, bracing himself for any number of horrors-the manifesto plans have leaked, they've found his attempts at a sonnet from when he was fourteen, Balls has breathed-

"Nothing" Bob says, too brightly. "The thing is-well, it's a good thing-"

"Good PMQs" Stewart chips in and Tom, behind them, snorts.

Ed frowns. "What is it?" he asks again, a tendril of worry unfurling along his spine now. "What's happened?"

Stewart and Bob exchange glances and Ed sighs. "Look" he says, trying for a placating smile but hastily abandoning the idea when he remembers the sight of his own smile. "I-whatever it is, I can take it. I hired you to be honest with me-I mean-"

It's Bob who clears his throat. "You're right. You're-listen-just-it really isn't a bad thing entirely-in fact, it's rather-"

If it's Balls, Ed is going to shoot him.

He takes a moment to consider his own skill at aiming and wince.

If it's Balls, Ed is going to have him shot.

"Thing is, you and Cameron-"

Ed's skin prickles at the name. Bob's still smiling but he's watching Ed more closely now, as if waiting for a reaction.

"Well-we're all happy-I mean, that-it looks good, you two spending time together-that actually looks very good for-"

Ed is all too familiar with Bob's strategy.

"What isn't very good?" he asks, losing a little patience now as he watches Bob and Stewart exchange another glance.

It's Stewart who clears his throat and says "You know-I mean, we've got no problem with you and Cameron being-" Stewart pauses, searching for a word. Ed has no idea why his heart is suddenly far more rapid, why he suddenly feels as if he's been caught out at something, the heat rushing to his cheeks.

"Friendly" Stewart apparently settles on. "The only issue, really, is-"

"PMQs" Bob says, being direct as he so often is. "You're doing well, but at PMQs, we need to improve. We're hoping to emphasise-well, more of a difference between you and Cameron-"

"The contrasts" Stewart chips in. "You know, use the PMQs leading up to the election-"

Ed feels the customary tightness in his chest and simultaneous thrill that the word _election_ seems to send through him these days.

"To show the electorate your differences. Give them a choice, make the choice clear-"

"We're just saying-" Bob leans forward from where he's perched himself on the edge of Ed's desk. "Just-when you're laughing at everything he says about you-"

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Tom erupts, almost throwing the chair over, he sits up so fast. "Stop laughing and smiling with Cameron during bloody PMQs. We don't give a damn if the two of you are wearing fucking friendship bracelets everywhere else, just not in the bloody chamber during Wednesday bloody lunchtimes. You get it?"

Ed stares at him for a long moment before he speaks very slowly. "It's not exactly a subtle point you're making."

Tom snorts. "Oh, for God's sake, I'm not Jack Nicholson and you're not Greg bloody Kinnear-"

"Which would you rather be, though?" Bob muses, apparently to himself. "I mean, either would be-"

Tom stares at him. "Are you insane?" When Bob and Ed both stare at him, he shakes his head. "Nicholson is _obviously-"_

"All right." Stewart holds up a hand. "I don't know if anyone else has noticed this, but I'm coming to the rapid conclusion that none of us are Jack Nicholson or Greg Kinnear-"

Bob stares at him. "That's what we're debating. You've got to _listen,_ Stewart-" He subsides as Tom swells indignantly and Stewart gives him a warning look.

"Ed-" Stewart turns back to him, voice a little softer now. "Look-it's good that you and Cameron get on. It is-just-don't laugh at so many of his jokes in PMQs. That's all."

Ed mulls it over but-rather annoyingly, for some reason-he can't find a way to reject the idea out of hand.

"It _is_ ironic" he offers weakly, but Stewart offers him that smile-the same one he gave Ed when he was reassuring him that almost no one would notice that he'd forgotten the deficit.

"We know. It's just-the public might not-"

"And there's no point in taking unnecessary chances " Bob chips in. "Not if we want to win an election."

Ed stares at him. "I know-"

"So-" Stewart smiles hopefully. "Just a little less laughter in PMQs. That's all. Whatever you do elsewhere-" for some reason, these words prickle at Ed-"-Well, that's up to you. Just-let's use PMQs the best way we can."

Ed knows that what they're saying makes sense. But he feels the need to clarify. "So-Cameron and I aren't on-I don't know, Big Brother status?"

"No." Bob shakes his head, looking a little relieved now. "No. Just PMQs. That's all."

Ed nods. "That-makes sense." He shrugs. "Anyway, I suppose Cameron'll get told the same."

Stewart shrugs. "If he's got Crosby on his back, almost definitely."

Tom makes a sound remarkably like a snort. "Don't count on it. Or put that image in my head."

Ed turns to stare at him as a look of alarm passes over Stewart's face and he mouths something frantically in Tom's direction that rather closely resembles "Shut up." Bob rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

"What do you mean, don't count on it?" Ed hates that his voice is suddenly the only one in the room.

(But a small part of him, somehow, is grateful that he can focus on the first part of Tom's sentence and not the second part. Because the second part-)

(It's something Ed does not want in his head, his heart beating rather uncomfortably fast at the thought of-)

Tom shrugs. "Nothing. Just that looking positive's good for Cameron."

Ed stares at him. "It's good for me too" he says slowly, trying to ignore the way his heart is suddenly pounding.

Tom nods. "Course it is. We'd be telling you to lay off otherwise. But I'm just-Crosby's pretty pleased it's working out."

Ed stares, suddenly painfully aware of how quiet the office has fallen around him. "What's working out?" he manages, his voice a little louder than usual, his mouth suddenly dry.

Tom gets up, stretching. "You know. He's the one who came up with the idea of the two of you behaving a bit better. Well-it came from Bercow originally, but he just wants his bloody voice to be heard more easily." He collects his papers from the desk, shrugs at Ed. "But, you know. Crosby had a word with Cameron, told him to be a bit less of a Bullingdon Club dickhead, etc. I mean, Crosby was talking to us, we all thought it was a good idea-"

Ed sits silently, staring at him. Bob's casting him an anxious look. Stewart is glaring between him and Tom.

Ed tries to say something, even as Tom gathers up some papers, tells the others that he'll call later. Instead, all he can do is sit still, the words echoing in his skull.

It's not as if it's a _surprise._ Obviously, Cameron didn't just_ start_ being friendly-Ed always suspected that. After all, neither had he.

It's just-

The way Tom said it-

It makes it sound-_different._

Like it's just another part of the campaign.

Like _all_ of it's just another part of the campaign-

The Tory campaign.

(All of _what?)_

Because, yes, Ed had known it was important. But-he hasn't-

He wasn't-

He wasn't treating his interactions with Cameron like some kind of-_campaign._

It had just been-well-

Cameron.

Conversations. Meals. Each other's houses.

It had just been _Cameron._

Not some-

Some campaign _trick-_

Just-Cameron.

There's a strange emptiness in his chest. It aches and Ed vaguely wonders why. He doesn't know what to do with his hands and he can't work that out, either. For some reason, he can't make himself look at Bob or Stewart and he's not entirely sure why-they _knew _about it,_ they're_ not shocked-

Ed doesn't know why he himself is shocked-if that's what this is-

It's this strange emptiness, as if the ground, something he was standing on without even thinking about it, has suddenly been dragged out from under him.

(And now, he's flailing-)

"Um-Ed-" Ed becomes aware someone's speaking to him and he looks round to see Bob staring at him. "Are you all right?" His hand twitches, as if he's about to reach out for Ed's arm but thinks better of it.

Ed forces a smile. (Why's he suddenly forcing himself to smile?) "Yeah." His voice is a little too happy, less I-am-perfectly-unruffled, more I-am-a-tiny-bit-on-the-wrong-side-of-psychotic. "I just-"

He doesn't know why he needs to get out of the room-he just knows he does. That he needs-

"Need to speak to Ed." He gets up, not too quickly. "I came up to speak to him, but-obviously-discuss our response to the statement-"

"Of course." Stewart's airy tone is belied by the concerned furrow of his brow. "Just-" He looks as if he wants to say something else but all he does say is "Let us know when you need us."

Ed nods and backs out of the room awkwardly, all while smiling in a way he already knows without looking won't improve his standing with anyone. He then heads down to the bathroom and, hands clenching on both sides of the sink, stares into the mirror.

There's no reason to be upset.

None.

Obviously, it's-

While they might enjoy each other's _company-_it started off as something _political,_ certainly-

Maybe for Cameron-

It's just a little _more _political.

That's fair. They've got an election coming up, that has to be both their priorities-

But-

Ed stares down at his hands, which he now realises are trembling a little.

He swallows hard. He raises one and hears himself exhale a little shakily.

His stomach hurts suddenly and there's a tautness in his chest like a drum and he feels almost timid, as if moving a little might knock him off-balance-

He feels-

Ed stares into the mirror, swallows past the odd swollen feeling in his throat and reminds himself it doesn't matter.

His hands are still trembling.

* * *

Ed manages to say all the right things until Tom, Bob and Stewart have eventually departed for lunch at his insistence, and then he finds himself standing there, staring at the wall.

It's not as if anything's wrong. There's no reason for Ed to be standing here, that strange, slightly lurching sensation in his chest, biting his lip as he tries to think of something, anything to say.

It takes him a moment to realise that he's trying to think of something to say to Cameron and he doesn't know what to make of that.

He briefly thinks of just getting on with his day and dismissing the entire conversation, but something about the thought of just waiting-without saying anything about it-

Something about the thought Ed just can't stand.

He doesn't know _why_ he needs to speak to Cameron, but-

But he just does.

Another part doesn't want to speak to him, almost doesn't want to speak at all, but Ed knows that if he _doesn't-_

He's not sure, but he knows without doubt that he can't just ignore it.

So that's how he ends up heading back to Portcullis House, feeling strangely shaky and wondering what he actually wants to ask Cameron at all.

It's only when he finds himself in the corridor outside Cameron's office that he remembers Cameron will be involved in discussions and that Ed can't just barge in and demand a meeting.

Which brings him to the realisation that he's just stormed into Portcullis House to see Cameron simply to ask him-what?

Ed almost laughs out loud. He's travelled here simply to ask if Cameron really-

Really is his-

Really is his _what?_

_Friend?_

Standing there, Ed feels utterly idiotic and even worse for feeling utterly idiotic. He bites his lip and on the back of that feeling comes the bitter sinking sensation of humiliation.

He's standing here in the corridor wanting to ask Cameron whether or not-whether or not he-actually _enjoys _Ed's company or whether he's just-

He sounds like a teenage girl, Ed realises with some horror.

Ed's just processing this thought when the door opens and Chris appears, laughing over his shoulder. He pulls the door shut and then blinks at the sight of Ed. "Ed." He grins, holds out a hand which Ed awkwardly takes, wondering if he'd have been better off just leaving and waiting for Cameron to remember to contact him.

But now, Chris is grinning at him. "The Prime Minister's busy right now but if I tell him you were here, I'm sure he'll want to see you after-"

Ed's already shaking his head because this has become pathetic enough without Cameron finding out Ed was standing in the corridor waiting for him. "No-no-I, I'm sorry-"

Chris frowns, his hand brushing Ed's arm. "Ed, are you all right?"

Ed tries to force a smile. "I-I'm fine-"

Chris doesn't look convinced. "It's just-you look a little perturbed."

Ed shakes his head inanely like a doll. "No, I-I just-" Get a grip.

He pulls himself up straighter, swallows, clears his throat. "I wanted to see him about something but it's not important. It can wait until the Prime Minister isn't busy, I'm sure-"

Chris nods, though he still doesn't look entirely convinced. "If you're sure-"

Ed nods. "I don't want to bother him" he manages and almost winces at how pathetic the words sound.

Chris nods, with a hand still on Ed's arm. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am-" he says, with a wink and turns into another office, leaving Ed with little choice but to turn around and walk away again.

* * *

David was feeling happy when they walked out of the Commons and by the time they reach the end of the meeting with Lynton, he's feeling even happier. Now, Lynton roots around in his bag, holding up a hand to stop David from leaving.

"Here. You know the drill, everyone at CCHQ gets one if they do something right, and today, that was you two."

Two stuffed koalas are thrown across the table, one to David and one to George.

"This'll be a nice addition." George examines the koala, looking rather pleased. "Pop this on the bed, see if Frances takes to it." Off David's stunned look, George rolls his eyes. "Not like that-just having it in the bedroom-" David raises an eyebrow. "On the bed-" David blinks at him. "I'm going to stop talking now."

"Please do" Lynton advises him with a pat to George's back. "Though I'm glad you didn't shut up today. You certainly showed why Balls will be out of a job in a few months."

David can't say he feels much sorrow at the thought.

It's then that Chris pops his head round the door and blinks at the sight of the koalas. "Should I even ask?"

George shrugs. "Craig doesn't, anymore."

Lynton grins, and with a clap on Chris' shoulder, announces that he's off to check on progress, and Chris beams, chucking the koala under the chin. "This little guy looks cheerful."

George groans. "Given what we were just-"little guy" is probably the_ worst _phrase you could have-" Off Chris' grin, George shakes his head. "You don't even want to know."

With a tap to David's shoulder, George announces he's off to fetch some food and David calls after him "Don't tell Balls our entire manifesto plan."

Chris laughs. "They still enjoy their rendezvous at the bar, then?"

David shudders. "That sounds rather unfortunate-" He takes another fond look at the new koala and imagines how happy Flo will be with the new addition to her stuffed-animal menagerie. "Still, I'm sure this creature will enjoy its' new home."

Chris laughs. "You've been deposed by a koala."

David grins at the koala fondly, picturing him in a suit. Chris watches too and when David raises his eyes, he notices Chris looks a little more tired than usual.

He clears his throat, keeping his tone deliberately casual. "Are you all right, Chris?"

Chris meets his gaze immediately, with a small smile. "Fine, Dave."

David hesitates and Chris smiles, gentles his voice. "It's going well, Dave. It's fine."

David swallows and nods and Chris gifts him with another smile. There's a short silence and then, turning to gather up some papers, Chris says "Speaking of would-be deposers-" He gives David another, bigger grin this time. "I ran into Ed Miliband in the corridor."

David looks up. "Outside? Did he say anything?"

Chris frowns. "Well-no. In fact-" He glances at the door, then back at David. "He looked a bit upset."

David looks up slowly this time, a whisper of worry creeping in. "Upset?" He'd known that Prime Minister's Questions would be a little more rambunctious today, given the Autumn Statement, but if Miliband was really-

"Well-" Chris frowns. "Maybe not upset. But-he just seemed a little-bothered. He was standing there, like he-you know-wanted to come in-"

"What, like he was listening-"

"No." Chris shakes his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face now. "More-I don't know. He wasn't near the door. He was-well, I suppose he was hovering. Pacing a little."

David frowns. "And-did he say anything?"

Chris shakes his head. "Not much. He just-looked upset." He gives a shrug. "I mean, I'm sure he's fine."

David nods, but the worry niggles at the back of his mind. Chris gives him a grin. "Come on, Harry Potter."

David manages a grin in return at the memory. "All right, Bernard" he says, and Chris laughs. "You need to be more in touch than _Yes, Prime Minister_, Dave."

Chris pats his shoulder, says something about seeing him back at Downing Street. David reflects briefly on another reason he's determined to keep Miliband out of Downing Street-Miliband is _not _getting hold of Chris.

Of course, apparently Miliband's corridor pacing has already got hold of Chris.

David sighs, picks up his phone. While the aftermath of their triumph at the Autumn Statement still lingers, he can't help but remember some of the other lines he threw at Miliband today. But surely it wasn't anything beyond their usual Wednesday exchanges-anything that Miliband could possibly take-

The thought of Miliband pacing the corridor looking upset, for some reason, leaves David with a distinctly uncomfortable feeling wedged between his chest and stomach.

He stares at the phone, sighs. Only now does it occur to him that he's been texting Miliband this whole time on his personal phone, rather than the Blackberry that he usually reserves for work colleagues outside of his immediate circle. He remembers now that Lynton was rather happy to hear David had Miliband's number in his personal phone-might even have been the one to suggest David put it in. Lynton's view is to make sure you look at what you're doing even when nobody else is watching-perhaps especially when nobody else is watching.

Something about the fact that David has been texting Miliband from his personal phone and hasn't even realised niggles at him in a way he can't quite understand, but now, he's got other things on his mind.

He taps out a quick text message to Miliband.

_Didn't upset you too much, did it, Miliband? Good to see you preparing for defeat._

He rereads the message and, frowning, deletes the second sentence. He's thinking of the headlines from the previous week.

He sends the message and promptly waits for a reply. And waits.

By the time he heads down to meet George fifteen minutes later, Miliband still hasn't replied and David's trying not to think about the fact that's never happened before.

* * *

_You know that was a joke, don't you?_

_Miliband, I know you're getting these messages._

_If I've done something to offend you, just tell me._

_Miliband, why are you ignoring me? This is the perfect chance for you to practice one of your arguments._

_Miliband, I honestly don't know what I've done._

_You know it's your duty to hold the government to account?_

_To hold me to account?_

* * *

George isn't surprised when he already sees Balls seated at the bar as he arrives. Balls likes to get everywhere on time-it's one of the things George knows would probably surprise people about Balls, along with his piano playing and bordering on unhealthy infatuation with The Sound Of Music.

He sits down next to him and says, with a grin, "Good to see you're accustomed to opposition, Balls."

Balls looks up, also with a grin. "Labour are used to changes, Osborne. I understand Tories are stuck in the nineteenth century-"

"Now, you know that's just Jacob."

Balls laughs and George grins as he feels their camaraderie settle back over them like a blanket. "Good speech today, Osborne. You'll do well when you're back being Shadow Chancellor."

George laughs, and then, with a quick smile as he orders his drink, says "I think the job's already taken for the next five years, to be honest."

Balls laughs. "Good speech, Osborne. You almost convinced me. " He frowns. "And fuck, that's definitely a concern."

"Is that a compliment or not?" George gives him a grin. "How are you, anyway?"

Contrary to his usual love of analysis, George does know when enough is enough. It's something Frances often brings up-or used to, when they had more time to talk. The first time they met, George had begun reading aloud from an article almost immediately. He hadn't thought about it and now, he's not sure what he was thinking or why he did it. He'd simply found the article interesting, so he'd read it aloud. It was as simple as that. Despite his usual love of examining his own and others' motivations-and being honest with himself, knowing how to use them-there are some things that he doesn't need to look at more closely.

And this is something similar. He likes Ed Balls, so he spends time with him. Why should anybody else care?

Now, he listens as Balls talks about his kids and smiles, the obvious love for them creeping into Balls' voice.

"Maddy still talks about you." George breaks out of his reverie to grin at the memory of Ed and Yvette's sharp-eyed youngest daughter, who seems to constantly have her arms folded, chin jutting out. "I'm not sure if you should be flattered or afraid, personally."

"Maddy'd probably take that as a compliment."

"Accurate guess." Balls takes another sip of his beer. "I'd lean more towards the "fucking scared" option."

"She's your daughter."

"Exactly." A grin darts to Balls' mouth. "I reckon your boss might agree."

"What, David?"

Balls snorts. "When he got hit in the head with that bloody ball, shit, even I was freaked out by how hilarious Maddy found it."

He breaks off at the sight of George clutching his drink with one hand and the bar with the other, suddenly almost helpless with laughter. "What the-"

George shakes his head. "He didn't tell me about the ball" he finally manages, still sniggering because it's so typically David.

Balls snorts again. "Don't blame him. Wish I'd captured it on film. That would have been something to shut your lot up at PMQs."

"Sure Bercow wouldn't have had something to say?"

"Order, order-" Balls bangs his hand down and then winces as a barmaid immediately appears. "No, no, sorry-"

Perhaps to stave off George's inevitable comment about this mishap, he asks, almost before the girl's walked away again, "Did he tell you about his and Ed's musical defeat?"

George smirks. "It was mentioned. Dave nearly having Miliband on his lap, notwithstanding-"

_"Cameron_ nearly having_ Ed_ on his lap? Of _all-"_

George lets his eyes meet Ed's and after a moment, they both smirk.

"It was amusing" Balls tells him, with a grin. "Of course, almost as amusing as them fighting over who had won."

George sniggers. "Surprised David survived a day of Labourites."

_"You're_ sitting next to a fucking Labourite, Osborne."

"Touche."

Balls winks and they both take another drink. There's a few moments of silence before Balls says "Speaking as someone else who might be fighting for a job come May, what the hell do you think of the whole Friends Forever Act?"

George arches an eyebrow. "Politically or personally?"

Balls arches one in return. "Both."

George takes a long gulp of his drink. "Politically-" he muses, staring into his glass. He takes a long moment before replying.

"Politically, it's a positive for everyone involved" he says slowly. "It makes David look good, makes Miliband look good, everyone's happy. As long as they keep it professional at work, it's all fine-"

Balls is still watching him and George holds back a grin, knowing that Balls won't let him get away with it so easily. It's one of the things George likes about him. He wonders if it's a similar camaraderie between David and Miliband.

But then, David and Miliband are a little different, anyway.

Balls raises an eyebrow and George takes another gulp of his drink. "Personally" he says quietly. "I think it can be good for them. Both of them. I think they-" He hesitates, wondering whether or not he should say it, but then Balls is one of the few people he can be honest with.

(And George sometimes wonders at just how strange that truth is.)

But he says it. "I think that they enjoy it" he says truthfully, and Balls makes a small sound in the back of his throat that could be agreement. "And-I think it could make it harder for them in the long term."

In reply to that, Balls lifts his glass, drains it, and says simply "Exactly."

George studies him for a minute and then says quietly, "Does it bother you?"

Balls smirks. "Sabotage, Chancellor?"

"Merely curiosity, Shadow Chancellor."

They grin. It's Balls who says quietly "I'm inclined to agree with you, Osborne. And fucking relish that, I don't say it often."

George grins. "Maybe you should. Maybe then you'd have a chance of winning."

"Osborne, this is all going to look very different after May."

The words are light-hearted but something about the tone is heavier. George takes another drink, to cover it.

"But you're right" Balls says, a little quicker now. "I mean, I'm sure you'll go running straight back to your boss-" George rolls his eyes. "But Ed was pretty fucking far from the happiest camper this afternoon."

George frowns. "What do you mean?"

Balls sighs. "I mean, he was just-you know, he sat in his office. And-you know-he didn't want to really speak to us. I mean-he did-but he was trying too hard, you know. Never seen him smile that big before. Press should have got a fucking snap of that." He rolls his eyes. "Point is, every time someone wasn't looking at him, he looked a bit-well, fucking shell-shocked. It was like we'd woken up 8th May to you lot getting a majority-"

George laughs. "Here's hoping, there."

Balls' grin flickers back into life for a moment, before he shakes his head. "It was just....strange."

_"They're_ strange" George says, trying to lighten the tone, but the words hang a little in the air and Balls gives him a sharp look-a look as if he wants to say something.

"It will be different after May" Balls says again, and George watches him for a long moment. He wonders which of them will be sitting here next year. Whether either of them will be.

He doesn't say it out loud though and neither does Balls. Instead, they just smile. They just drink. They just talk. And they don't think about the next year.

* * *

_ Playlist _

_Million Dollar Bills-Lorde_ _-"_ _We can leave the house lead the party let the people know/_ _Go drown the colours of our minds and watch the cars go/_ _It's not about just being out with all our people/_ _Cause we can get in trouble just by going free throw"_

_Hello Cold World-Paramore-"You say you're really hurting/At least you're feeling something/We can hope and we can pray that everything will work out fine/But you can't just stay down on your knees/The revolution is outside"_

_Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)-The Beatles_ _-"I once had a girl/Or should I say/She once had me"_

_Space-The Beautiful South-"And if there's ever time in life for genuine mistake/Surely then you got the means to make it/And if you'd like one final slip before you get it right/This moon's asleep, you got the means to wake it/So left alone we're just simple bricks/No more than the stone that the child kicks/But as soon as we're together we are wall/And the stone the child kicks is bouncing ball"_

_No Me, No You, No More-The Staves-"How can I want you/A little bit more than I did before/I didn't need you but I want you back/A little bit more, than I knew/Now I can't go back to life before"_

_Gotta Love-Dresses-"I know I won't believe you till I'm home and I'm not leaving/Until then, I can tell, yeah I'm just like you/We've got a lot of feelings, we just don't know how to feel them"_

_The Worst Is Yet To Come-Motion City Soundtrack-"Tell me, do you think we'll be fine after all? /I'm all nerve, an anxious, sort of complicated fear,/The worst is yet to come, my dear"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Florence with one of Lynton's koalas:https://bit.ly/2wCseLE  
The PMQs depicted can be found here (including the masosadism comment): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6kNchHho8A  
The Autumn Statement and response can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8izxyiTNn4  
George and Ed B do frequently meet up for drinks, especially after conferences/meetings-their friendship has become particularly prominent in recent years after them leaving frontline politics:https://bit.ly/3azaVtg  
https://bit.ly/3cNldro  
http://dailym.ai/2Iz1FJE  
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/06/09/cheeky-george-osborne-steals-show-mocks-theresa-may-ed-balls/  
https://bit.ly/2TSI2l6  
https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/article/george-osborne-theresa-may-interview  
https://bit.ly/2TP9H6k  
Lynton did make a habit of handing out toy koalas and kangaroos: https://bit.ly/38FD2p8  
Ed B started out as a leader writer for the Financial Times:https://bit.ly/2xpEKya  
https://bit.ly/38BdoSG  
Frances and Justine have been friends since law school-the first time Frances and George met, he did start reading an article to her and they then argued for the entire lunch: https://bit.ly/3aN8WSl  
https://bit.ly/3aN96cp  
http://dailym.ai/39E4vZM  
George and Frances did start leading separate lives eventually, having been known for spending a lot of time apart, and announced they were divorcing in 2019:https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/can-george-osborne-prove-that-he-cares-n3v5xvbkfjd  
http://dailym.ai/2TPavrS  
https://bit.ly/33c2YYA  
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-48833570  
https://bit.ly/2wH8VAr  
You can read about Ed's aides who are mentioned here: http://dailym.ai/3cNeoWQ  
http://dailym.ai/3aLnnWH  
https://www.cityam.com/man-behind-ed-miliband/  
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-11994759


	10. Reminiscent Reunions, Economical Exchanges And Vitriol For Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which George fails to finish conversations and David thinks Lynton is an entirely suitable name for a koala."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me anything you like about it or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to read any of the articles and can't, just let me know.  
The reference quotes here refer to Ed's dinner with Nick R, the fallout between Nick and George and the Christmas party.  
TW: there are mild (topical) references to the Holocaust in this chapter.  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

* * *

_ **A restaurant in Mayfair**_

_Just off Park Lane, around the corner from the Dorchester, is the place Ed Miliband has picked for a "getting-to-know-you-better dinner" with me and our wives. The marble-topped bar, leather chairs and low lighting-not to mention the image, on the door to the men's loo, of a hunter pointing his shotgun at the sky-give it the feel of a gentlemen's club. An unexpected choice, you might think, for a man who stands up to the rich and privileged. **"The owner's a supporter"** Ed explains, ordering a cranberry juice. His wife Justine, an environmental lawyer, has had a busy day in court representing Columbian farmers in a David-versus-Goliath struggle against the oil giant BP. It's obvious that Ed is immensely proud of her._

_The four of us talk about what polite, middle-class couples in smart restaurants tend to talk about-children, holidays, books we've read and, of course, politics. What's striking, though, is that Ed makes no attempt to use this conversation, one of the longest we're likely to have before the election, to make a pitch as to why he's ready to be prime minister. Indeed, he and Justine are keen to steer the conversation away from what life might be like for them and their family if they get to Number 10. Do they not want to tempt fate or are they wary of seeming to take the result for granted?_

_I detect, though, something more than political caution. It's doubt and uncertainty. Ed, who is a clever, engaging and self-deprecating guy in private, jokes about the time Neil Kinnock was campaigning for him during the leadership election. Neil called on the audience to back Ed for leader "**.....although I wouldn't wish this job on my worst enemy."** Ed's demeanour suggests that he is thinking, if only I knew then what I know now._

_It's all in stark contrast with a dinner I had with the last leader of the opposition. In 2009 David Cameron invited me-no wives-to a restaurant and did everything he could to convince me that he had what it took to be prime minister, inviting me to cross-examine him. In truth, that evening was less enjoyable, even though privately David is also very good company. But it made more of an impact._

_Tonight Pippa and I left Mayfair having had a fine meal and pleasant conversation with a couple we both liked, but on the way home we found ourselves wondering whether Ed has one of the key requirements for high office: an apparently never-ending and almost irrational supply of self-belief. On the other hand, perhaps that was the mistake his brother made...-"Monday 20th October 2014" Election Notebook: The Inside Story Of The Battle Over Britain's Future And My Personal Battle To Report It, Nick Robinson_

_For the Labour leader, this was a deeply ideological moment. He had always viewed David Cameron and George Osborne as hollow men, as Bullingdon boys who say politics only as a game or a means of amassing power and influence. The conference speech was a once-a-year opportunity for a party leader, especially a Leader Of The Opposition, to set out for the country what he or she believed, a chance to make a clear case for a set of principles and/or policies.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_Ed, says a friend, **"was feeling a bit more confident during the Budget. He was up against Osborne, not Cameron. I'm not saying he's scared of Cameron but Ed sees himself as a much better politician and debater than Osborne." G**oing up against Cameron, says the friend, is much harder. In fact, Ed later told an aide that he could see the frustration and irritation in the Prime Minister's eyes as he taunted the Chancellor over the 50p tax cut, which only spurred him on.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_The rest of the team was small but professional. Andrew Feldman was the natural treasurer, and he set about raising the necessary funds, starting with the businessman Phil Harris. My old Carlton boss Michael Green chipped in. We wanted a good range of donors, not to rely too much on any one individual. Ed Llewelly, who was working in Sarajevo at the time, took unpaid leave to come and lead my team. Kate Fall, who had worked for Michael Howard, came to work as his deputy. They teamed up with my press officer Gabby Bertin and an events team led by Liz Sugg. All would still be with me when I left Downing Street eleven years later...Downstairs, after a swift morning meeting I would meet with the PMQs team, plus a wider group including George Osborne, Michael Gove, Gabby Bertin, Kate Fall and frequently Danny Finkelstein, in my study. From time to time other MPs would join us, such as James Cartlidge. These meetings were often a riot of laughter as we tried to come up with the most topical jokes, put-downs and what we'd call **"zingers"-**the comments that the House would howl at, the journalists would tweet and the broadcasters would clip on their evening bulletins.-For The Record, David Cameron,_

_The lead-up (to conference) was similar every year. After a few speech-prep meetings in Downing Street in July, my core team would reconvene at Chequers in September for our annual conference speech**"sleepover."** As ever, Ed (Llewellyn), Kate (Fall) and Craig (Oliver) were there. Ameet Gill, Steve's replacement as strategy director, came too, as well as Michael Gove.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_Just as Cameron had promised (Bruce) Anderson, in September (2005), his embryonic campaign began acquiring structure and pace. Office space was rented in Greycoat Place near party headquarters and a team was put in place-which included Kate Fall, as well as George Eustice and Gabby Bertin, both of whom resigned from the party's press office to throw their weight behind him...For those in the inner sanctum-Osborne, Hilton and Hague; press aides Gabby Bertin, George Eustice and Henry Macrory; Ed Llewellyn, Kate Fall and events organiser Liz Sugg-it was an exhilarating time. The new leader was a pleasure to work with: energetic, self-deprecating and fun. A senior aide recalls: **"I often saw the really human side of him, particularly at our early morning meeting, when he was always on great form. He is very much a morning person. He's a big James Bond fan, and one day he mentioned he'd been watching From Russia With Love. The next day he walked into the morning meeting with his jacket off, flung it across the room and it landed on the coat stand. Then he looked at Gabby and said: "Good morning, Miss Moneypenny."**...Cameron quickly laid down his daily routine. He would rise at 5.30 a.m. to exercise and spend two hours working through his red box of papers, which was sent up to his flat in physical form (for the first time since the Major years) by Downing Street officials the night before. At 8.30 a.m. he would chair the first formal meeting of the day. Throughout his premiership, the core attendees were Osborne (who would take over in Cameron's absence), McLoughlin (the chief whip), Llewellyn, Fall, Bertin, Coulson (later replaced by Craig Oliver) and occasionally Hague, or, when required, other Cabinet ministers-all under the steady gaze of Jeremy Heywood, the new Downing Street Permanent Secretary, whom Cameron had known since his Treasury days. The morning meeting was to be a tactical, news agenda-driven discussion, carried out away from prying Lib Dem eyes, in contrast with the afternoon meeting-4.p.m.-which aimed for a more strategic and long-term horizon.-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft & Isabel Oakeshott_

_Number 10 is still adapting to the departure of Hilton. After the summer, Oliver Dowden is promoted to deputy chief of staff to help Llewellyn and Kate Fall. Together with head of strategic communications Ameet Gill and Craig Oliver, they work hard to bring more focus to their work and more discipline to the message...Cameron gathers his team at Chequers to talk his speech through on the day of Ed Miliband's address at the Labour conference in Brighton. Kate Fall, Ameet Gill, Michael Gove and Steve Hilton, back from California to help craft the words, are all there overnight.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_Craig Oliver, Olive Dowden, Ameet Gill, Liz Sugg and Gabby Bertin were completely unknown to David when he hired them to the team. Soon they were counted among his closest advisers.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_The circumstances of the Government's origins meant that there had been no hoopla of the sort that welcomed Tony Blair when he entered Downing Street in 1997: no "Britain Just Got Better" t-shirts, no party workers posing as members of the public waving flags to hail the new PM. Just before 8.45p.m., on the steps of Number 10, Cameron had said that coalition**"is the right way to provide this country with the strong, the stable, the good and decent government that I think we need so badly."...**_ _Behind him stood his pregnant wife Samantha, and to his right, core members of Team Cameron, including Steve Hilton, soon to assume the deliberately vague title of **"senior adviser"**_ _; Coulson; Coulson's deputy, Gabby Bertin; Kate Fall, Cameron's longtime friend and deputy chief of staff; and Liz Sugg, the formidable **"Miss Fixit"**_ _ of the gang, who would become Number Ten's head of operations. At the fringes of the television screen, the electorate caught its first glimpse of the cohort it had not quite elected to run the country. The sense of euphoria that sweeps through a party when it returns to office-in the case of the Lib Dems, after decades in the wilderness-was leavened by a sense of surrealism. As one Cameron adviser remembers it: **"There was this incredulity-you know, "How the hell did this  happen?"" **_ _Hilton, still convinced that the glass of politics was very much half full, was struck by the warmth of the Number Ten staff. Fall sensed that the people who ran the building were ready for a change after the final, grim chapter of King Gordon's reign-projectiles, shouting and fits of fury-but that Sarah Brown would be missed. By the time Cameron, Osborne and Hague explored the building, it seemed more like the Mary Celeste.-In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D'Ancona_

_Beyond our Grid, which is built around the Prime Minister, is another Grid, which extends to the wider government machine and which it attempts to coordinate. Whitehall's natural inclination is to churn out announcements in a completely random way any day of the week-the good, bad, and ugly egged on by politicians who long for the limelight, oblivious of the potential outcomes. So it is the job of our Grid master, Ameet Gill-who has been promoted from speechwriter-and Andy Coulson (and after Andy, Craig Oliver) to stop them, or at leas try to bring some sort of rhyme or reason to the plans. This earns No. 10 the reputation of being bossy and interfering-and always will.-The Gatekeeper, Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_Nick Clegg had an assurance from George Osborne that he could launch the Sheffie_l_d_ _ deal of infrastructure and business investment up in his constituency on Friday 5 December. But on 4 December, Nick was suddenly told that George Osborne was no longer willing to approve the vast majority of what had already been agreed. The launch had to be postponed, even though it was now widely expected._

_The row soon became deeply acrimonious. For a week following 5 December, the Deputy Prime Minister and Chancellor swapped increasingly angry messages by text. The Chancellor was not just being difficult-he was refusing to meet up or call. On 11 December, Nick Clegg demanded to speak to the Prime Minister. It was one of the angriest conversations of the five-year coalition: **"George has crossed the reddest of red lines-not only is he breaking promises, but he is screwing me over in my own bloody constituency." **Eventually, after much work, Nick Clegg secured the Sheffield deal, and it was announced in 2015. But the row over it lasted for almost two months and led to a complete breakdown in the relationship between the Deputy Prime Minister and Chancellor. As the year ended, Nick Clegg told me: "**If I lose in Sheffield, the only thing anyone will remember about me is that and tuition fees. I cannot forgive Osborne for undermining me in this way in my own seat."** It was not a harmonious end to the last year of the parliament.-Coalition: The Inside Story Of The Conservative-Liberal Democrat Coalition, David Laws_

_Cameron sells the idea (of George's Northern Powerhouse) to the Lib Dems; Clegg is profoundly unhappy. He sees the policy as a threat to Liberal Democrat strength in northern councils and later launches a rival initiative called Northern Futures Plan. He also feels the policy gives greater power to Manchester without a similar initiative for Sheffield, which includes his own constituency. Despite later negotiating a separate deal for Sheffield, Clegg is **"furious"**_ _ with Osborne at the time and feels it is an attempt to do him political damage, a claim denied by Osborne: **"I had a massive clash with Nick Clegg, which caused a lot of bad blood which was unfortunate, as I never set out to do that."**_ _ Upon hearing further details of the Northern Powerhouse in the Autumn Statement, Clegg calls Cameron from a windy Bristol airport telling him it is **"just ridiculous." "Why don't you sort it out?"**_ _ the PM replies. But Osborne is unrepentant. Upsetting Clegg no longer concerns him.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon_

_A party at the home of one of the founder members of New Labour, or, as one wag puts it, the annual convention of the Islington establishment. Delegates are in attendance not just from the New Labour era-notably Alastair Campbell and Anji Hunter-but from the post Blair-Brown hierarchy as well: Ed Miliband, Douglas Alexander, Tristram Hunt, Rachel Reeves. So far, so unsurprising. What makes this establishment different, and attracts such loathing and suspicion, is that some of the Cameron crowd are here too, in the shape of close aides Gabby Bertin and Ameet Gill, together with a couple of Lib Dems._

_Liberal metropolitan elite? What liberal metropolitan elite?..Ed Miliband clearly has his mojo back. Even when it is past midnight, he is keen to tell me that the Tories have made a fatal error by revealing that the cuts they are planning are deeper than necessary to cut borrowing and therefore, ideologically driven. So keen that he passes up the chance of a dance with Justine to "Things Can Only Get Better".-Election Notebook: The Inside Story Of The Battle Over Britain's Future And My Personal Battle To Report It, Nick Robinson_

* * *

_"I'm going to talk, so you can't hang up."_

_Nothing._

_"Sometimes," I say. "I can't tell whether people are real or not. Lots of people pretend to be nice to me, so I'm never sure."-Solitaire, Alice Oseman_

_"You're such a weirdo.." Reagan said. "I kind of missed you."-Fangirl, Rainbow Rowell_

_"So...have you just....were you just pretending to be nice all this time?" he said, his voice so quiet and soft..._

_"What? No! None of this has been a lie, I swear."_

_"So why have you been talking to me then?" he said._

_At the exact moment he said "I'm so unimpressive" I said "Because you're cool."_

_We looked at each other._

_Then he laughed softly and shook his head. "This is so weird."-Radio Silence, Alice Oseman_

David manages to get through the first few meetings of the day before he grabs his phone again. He determinedly hasn't looked at it during the 8am meeting and it's only now that he needs to ring George to wish him luck, does he glance quickly at the screen.

There are no new messages from Miliband. David pretends his heart doesn't sink.

Slowly, he hits George's name and waits, trying to ignore the disappointment prickling in his chest.

"I _know_, Dave." George's voice is rather bouncier than it was this time last year and David feels a tired smile tug at his own mouth. "Replay of 2010, BBC need to learn, etc. I know how to handle Humphreys."

"Just checking." David can't help but smile. "Good luck, George."

"Thank you very much." George is laughing, but his voice lowers a little. "Are you all right, Dave?"

David frowns, debating whether or not to lie, but then manages, struggling to sound casual, "You don't happen to know if Miliband's in work today, do you?"

There's a silence. David wonders if he should have kept quiet. But the worry's been there, lurking under his ribs since the previous evening. Sam had sent him a few concerned looks, while Florence had scrambled onto his knee, asking happily "Are you all right, Daddy?"

He just wishes he knew whether or not he'd offended Miliband.

"Maybe the two of you are starting to think alike" suggests George, sounding entirely too breezy for someone who's about to face a BBC interview. "Acquiring his thoughts, learning when he's absent-"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking _you."_

"Charming."

The last thing he needs is any reminding of what kind of-_bond _everyone's acting as if he has with Miliband, right now.

"Though, according to Balls, he was pretty miserable yesterday."

David's hand had strayed out, idly, to pet the head of the toy koala, that is now sitting comfortably on his desk. (He'd neglected to take it upstairs the day before, after discovering it really seemed to fit rather nicely here.) Now, he stops, thoughts suddenly freezing on Chris's words of the previous day-_he looked upset-_

"He-was miserable?"

"Well, that's what Balls seemed to think. I mean, we had a lot to discuss-what with me divulging all of Lynton's strategies and drawing up our seating plan for me to join the Labourites-we didn't have much time to talk about _Miliband-"_

"Hilarious." David's hand falls onto the koala's head, petting it absently. "But honestly-Miliband was upset?"

"Balls said so." George's voice is a little quieter now, clearing his throat. "Pretty miserable, apparently."

David stares at the koala, which seems to stare sadly back.

The thought of-of Miliband being _miserable-_

Something about it sends a pang into David's chest. He squeezes the koala without thinking.

"Right" he says, still staring at the toy. "Right-well, I-"

"You could always text him" George suggests helpfully and David feels a strong and irrational desire to scream down the phone.

He doesn't because the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland does still retain some dignity and awareness of what is seemly and appropriate behaviour for public office.

Plus, the koala seems to be gazing at him rather reproachfully. David glares right back at it.

"Got to go for mic check-"

"Oh-of course-" He clears his throat, sits up. "Good luck, but-you'll do brilliantly-"

"Thank you." George's voice is a little chirpier again. "And listen-it might not be anything to do with you. But if you're bothered, just talk to him."

David frowns at the phone. "What do you mean?"

But George is clearly distracted. "Got to go. Call you afterwards, let you know how it went-" There's a hustle at the other end of the phone that tells David things are moving more quickly now.

"Good luck" he says again, shaking off any earlier annoyance. "You'll be fine."

"Thanks." There's the briefest of pauses and then George says, a little quieter "Good luck to you, too."

David barely has a chance to say "Wh-" before George has hung up. David stares at the phone.

"Good luck to you, too" he mutters, glancing at the phone, then at the koala. "What in hell's teeth does _that _mean?"

The koala stares back silently. David glares at it. "I mean-I _have_ texted him several times." It feels rather like trying to produce a satisfactory explanation for not showing enough enthusiasm to Lynton. "It's _him_ who's ignoring _me."_

He gets up abruptly, automatically lifting the phone. He opens another message, then closes it without writing anything.

He's got some experience dealing with Miliband when they can't agree over policy and given that David has to admit, those exchanges fall somewhat under Craig's description of "the proverbial rock and hard place trying to fucking annihilate each other", he's not hopeful of Miliband dropping the Your-Bullingdon-Club-Twattishness-Offends-My-Labourite-Brown-Worshipping-Sensibilities Act.

(Well, maybe not the twattishness part. Though hearing Miliband say that aloud may provide David with some amusement.)

But David is rather familiar with Miliband's ability to hold a grudge. And while it would be one thing if he was just sulking-but if what George and Balls are saying is _true-_

If he's really upset-

"It can't be because of me" he says, rather plaintively, to the koala. "I mean-I didn't even say-he can't have-it can't be that _I've_ upset him" he says, rather uselessly.

He glares at the wall, then back at the koala. "And it's not as if he didn't expect some sort of excess yesterday" he mutters. "That would make him a downright idiot."

He adjusts the koala, so he can meet its' gaze properly. "I mean, you do know-"

The koala stares back and says nothing and right then is when it sinks in for David that he has been conversing at great length with a non-sentient toy koala for something approaching ten minutes.

He is talking to a koala.

A toy koala.

Because Miliband is ignoring him.

That's it.

David pulls his suit straight, turns and heads for the door. Then, remembering the unfortunate incident with Boris and the kangaroo, he turns and marching back to the desk, snatches up the koala. "You're coming with me" he tells it, before he shoves it under his suit.

If Miliband won't answer his messages, then he'll damn well talk to him face-to-face.

With a koala under his arm, if need be.

(This koala already has a most irritating way of motivating him.)

(It's when he's heading down the corridor that it strikes him and he smiles to himself.)

(Yes, he thinks he might christen the koala _Lynton.)_

* * *

"He's got to be joking."

Danny has seen Nick angry many times. He has seen Nick angry over broken promises, tuition fees, dog shit poked through the letterbox and on no less than three occasions, the dropping of a hot dog.

But, he reflects, watching his friend pace back and forth, raking one hand through his hair, this may be one of the angrier times.

"He fucking approved this" Nick almost spits at him, as if Danny is the one who's decided to postpone the Sheffield announcement. "He fucking-he fucking _promised."_

Danny has seen George angry too, and a little wearily (it's him who's dealing with it. Of course. It always is.), he holds out a hand to Nick. "Calm down-"

Nick almost spins round, his eyes seeming to flash a little. _"Calm down?"_

"We don't know what's going on yet." Danny deliberately keeps his voice low and level. "We don't know why he's-it might just be a delay of a few days-"

"He said we could do it." Nick almost grinds the words out. "He agreed to all of it-_all_ the investments, he _said_-and now he's decided he doesn't bloody well agree with _half _of it-"

Danny senses it isn't the right time to point out it's more than half.

"This is-" Nick's hand shoots out, almost slapping the wall. "This is _my bloody constituency."_

Danny holds up a hand. "I'll talk to him."

Nick snorts. "Given he didn't even have the fucking decency to tell me in _person-"_

Danny closes his eyes. "Just-let me talk to him." Another idea strikes him and he says, perhaps a little too hopefully "Or we could go to Cameron, George listens to him-"

Nick makes a strangled noise then and Danny looks up, frowning.

When Nick meets his eyes, Danny feels a lurch in his chest. Nick doesn't just look angry anymore-his eyes are wide, and his mouth is almost trembling ominously.

"Don't you see-" He shakes his head, hands knotting back in his hair again. "We always go to _Cameron-"_ He makes a sudden, convulsive movement as if about to grab something. "We always end up running to bloody_ Cameron_, like we're his bloody-"

Danny stands up slowly, waits until he's sure Nick's not about to jump before he lets a hand rest cautiously on his arm. When Nick doesn't pull away, he takes it as a good sign.

"We'll sort it out" he says, quietly, with more confidence than he feels. "We'll sort it."

Nick nods, but Danny can tell he doesn't quite believe him.

* * *

David's almost too familiar with Norman Shaw South these days-having spent five years there in opposition, as well as his more recent visits to Miliband, he feels as if he knows the place rather too well. But for all his familiarity, David's never once found himself staring at Harriet Harman, Stewart Wood and Tom Baldwin, insisting that he needs to speak to Ed Miliband right away.

With a koala tucked under his arm.

"We understand perfectly well what you're saying, Prime Minister" Harriet enunciates slowly, as if David is rapidly losing his hearing, mental faculties or both. "We're just a little-_bewildered_ as to why you need to speak to him so suddenly."

David tries to take a deep, calming breath. "It's private" he says and then when the trio look unmoved, he sighs. "It's-delicate."

"Delicate?" Baldwin snorts the word _delicate _in perhaps as indelicate a manner as it is possible to do.

Stewart appears to count to ten before he interjects, as David wishes Baldwin off the face of the planet. "Prime Minister, it would be much easier if you'd informed us in advance-"

"Or made an appointment" Harriet cuts in, and David wonders if there's any way this can possibly get worse.

A door opens and a face that's all too familiar pops out.

"What the hell's going on?" asks Anna, Miliband's press officer, and David wonders if God's in the habit of playing practical jokes.

"Anna. Lovely to see you."

"Can't return the compliment, Prime Minister."

"Well, since we're all being so tactful-" He's just thankful Rachel isn't here, as well.

He takes another deep breath. "I _do_ need to see your Leader quite urgently and if I _don't_ get to see him-I don't know, we're all in danger of the nuclear button being pressed and we all get blown up, since we're now in the market for sincerity-"

Stewart tilts his head to the side. "You know, there might be a reason you lot don't do well in Brussels-"

"For God's sake-" David spreads his hands, as much as he can. "Is this the new position of the Opposition? To refuse to allow the Prime Minister to speak with anyone from your party-_fantastic _cross-party co-operation, by the way-"

"If you'd made an appointment-"

"Well, I couldn't make a bloody appointment-"

"Fucking hell." Baldwin's already turning away and Anna folds her arms. "If you could tell us _why _you wish to speak with Mr. Miliband-"

David wonders if there is anyone in the world who could make this situation worse right now.

At that moment, Balls pokes his head out of the door. "What the hell is going on?"

Harriet closes her eyes momentarily. David should probably do the same with his mouth but throws caution to the wind.

"You do realise that if you'd just let me speak to him-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Balls rolls his eyes, throwing up his hands. "This is about Miliband, isn't it?"

David has a moment where he seriously considers just pushing his way through but instead, he settles for throwing his own arms up. "What on _earth_ do you imagine the problem is? All I want to do is speak with the Leader of the Opposition-what kind of-I don't know, _depraved insinuations_ could you_ possibly_ derive from that?"

Something has thudded to the floor. David takes in the various gazes, all rooted on one spot.

He lowers his own gaze. The koala is lying at his feet.

David stares at it, then lifts his eyes to find five people's gazes fixed on him.

"Is that a_ koala?" _Anna's staring at it as if she's never seen one before.

David could, of course, proffer a lengthy, charming and rather transparent explanation of the situation.

He could. In theory.

Instead, he offers, weakly, "No."

"That looks like a koala."

David sighs. "It's-it's not _my _koala. It-that is-it was given to me-"

"Someone gave you a koala?" Balls is staring between him and the toy as if he can't quite decide whether to laugh or not.

"Someone did not _give_ me a koala-"

"Did you....purchase the koala yourself?" Harriet's now watching him closely, as if deeply concerned for his health.

"No, I did not _purchase a koala for myself-"_

"Did you bring it for Miliband?" barks Baldwin like a drill sergeant.

"Getting loud-" says Stewart helpfully, with a hand on his arm. "Getting loud..."

_"No_, I did _not-"_

_"Jesus."_ Balls is staring at David, eyes wide. "I don't know if that's touching or perverted-"

"What-how on earth-"

Miliband's office door flies open and Bob Roberts' voice bellows "What the _hell_ is going on out here?" at the exact same moment that Baldwin almost _shrieks_ at Balls _"Did you just ask Cameron if he bought Miliband a koala fucktoy?"_

David's eyes close and he wishes wholeheartedly for a bolt of lightning to strike them all down.

(Except him and Miliband. Miliband's going to talk to him first.)

_(Then_ the lightning can strike them down.)

He already knows who's going to be standing there when he opens his eyes.

(Because it's _Miliband._ Of _course _he'll be there. He'll probably be there in the middle of World War 3, arching his eyebrows at David as they cower in some bunker somewhere and telling him that this would never have happened under _Labour's_ watch.)

(David will probably have to murder him and then he'll spend the rest of the war feeling guilty and knowing Miliband, he'll still find some way to taunt him from beyond the grave-_That isn't very diplomatic, Prime Minister-_echoing like a ghost over the radio.)

Bob glances between them. David's trying not to look at Miliband. A part of him would like to never look at Miliband again.

(And then Miliband would probably whine about that too.

Bob glances back at David, at the various people assembled in the hallway, at the koala and then throws his hands up. "I don't even want to know."

David is already wishing for Norman Shaw South to collapse into pieces around them all, but he's not going to let Miliband ignore him face-to-face after all this.

So, he forces his gaze up and, meeting Miliband's eyes, manages "I need to speak to you."

Miliband just stares. He looks fine, David thinks as he scrutinizes Miliband's face for any sign of illness or tiredness-perhaps those shadows are a little darker under his eyes-

"Which one of us?" This is from Douglas, who's just emerged from Miliband's office behind his leader. He stops when he catches sight of David. "Oh-so, you." He nods at Miliband, then turns back to David. "Good morning, Prime Minister."

"Morning, Douglas."

Douglas blinks. "Why is there a koala on the floor?"

David is beginning to wish he could reasonably punch Lynton for ever so much as mentioning the word "koala". Of course, he wouldn't because a) Lynton means well, b) Lynton _does_ well, and c) that would be the act of the truly insane.

Instead, he looks back at Miliband. "I need to speak to you."

Miliband doesn't say anything. In fact, now that David thinks about it, Miliband hasn't said anything at all. But he's staring at David, head tilted to the side and it might be David's imagination but Baldwin's eyes dart uncomfortably-

David swallows, bends and picks up the koala. He can feel his phone vibrating as he wedges Lynton the Koala under his arm and then looks straight at Miliband. "I would really-" He takes a deep breath. "Honestly appreciate it if you'd agree to talk to me right now."

_Or say anything at all._

_Because, to be honest, I'd expect the Daily Mail to applaud us all before you stay quiet and the latter, frankly, is rather disconcerting._

Of course, he doesn't say that out loud.

Miliband stares at him for an interminably long second before abruptly, he steps back and indicates his office with a sharp jerk of the head.

David knows when to hedge his bets and when to take-or give-an olive branch. He wedges Lynton the Koala more firmly under his arm before he follows Miliband.

Miliband doesn't say anything until the door's shut and then he walks behind his desk before turning to look at David. David waits-almost _awkwardly_, if he was someone else-for a smile or a nod or even just an arch of the eyebrow. But Miliband just looks at him.

David looks back. He's had enough of trying to start conversations with Miliband over the last two days.

When Miliband still says nothing, however, David sighs. "Really, Miliband? I'm waiting."

Miliband's eyebrows arch now. "Prime Minister, I don't know if you're familiar with office etiquette, but _you're _the one who came to see _me."_

David blinks.

_"Really?_ Nothing? That's _it?"_

Miliband shrugs. "I _was _wondering why you were carrying a koala about."

David holds up a hand. "Anything except the koala."

Miliband says nothing and that's when something snaps and David's had enough-or that's what he tells himself when he blurts out "I was actually here out of _concern_, Miliband-a greeting would be rather pleasant."

Something flickers across Miliband's face then and David frowns, trying to catch hold of the look-surprise? relief?-but it's gone before David can decide.

"Concern?" is what Miliband says slowly and maybe it's the sheer amount of _waiting _he's been doing that wells up in David's throat then.

"Yes, _concern_" he snaps and takes a step forward because he's _not _going to have this discussion with Miliband from the other side of the room. "Now while I simply can't _wait_ to hear whatever "Tories showing concern, it's a sign of the apocalypse" witticism you are probably about to throw -"

From the look on Miliband's face, David surmises that this guess was more accurate than he'd anticipated.

"But concern happens to be what I feel when Chris tells me that you're upset and you're waiting outside my office."

David sends Chris a silent apology, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Miliband's eyes widen and David watches the movement of his throat as he swallows.

"Chris told you I was up-th-set?" He can tell Miliband's making an effort to keep his voice steady, but he can't hide the blush that creeps slowly up his cheeks.

"Yes, he did." David's managed to move closer and he now manages to drop Lynton into the seat. Miliband raises an eyebrow but otherwise makes no comment on the koala.

"And Chris was hardly likely to lie, Miliband."

There's no answer. David swallows.

"And then-well, you didn't answer any of my messages-well-" He's suddenly finding it rather difficult to meet Miliband's eyes. "I was worried about you."

Miliband's eyes widen far more. His eyes find David's for the first time since he came into the room. David clears his throat, his cheeks a little warmer than usual. Suddenly, he doesn't know quite what to do with his hands.

"Worried?" Miliband's voice is low.

David forces himself to meet his gaze. "Yes" he says quietly.

The line hovers at his mouth, the comeback he's all too used to exchanging with Miliband. But instead, taking in Miliband's expression, he doesn't say anything and instead watches Miliband open his mouth and then close it again without making a sound.

* * *

Ed doesn't know what he expected today but he didn't expect to see Cameron standing in his office next to a toy koala.

Justine had given him a long look when he'd checked and then promptly ignored his phone for the fifth time. In fairness, it probably was confusing-only the other night, Zia had had to rescue it from Sam's milk when Ed had nearly knocked it all over the table in his haste to reply to a text.

It was when he'd ignored Cameron's fifth text that she'd sighed, closed the brief she was reading, and had curled up next to him on the couch.

"Either a reporter's got hold of a story you don't want me to know about-" she'd said quietly, even though the boys were sleeping two floors above them. "Or you don't want to speak to somebody."

Ed hadn't wanted to go into the details of who he was ignoring or why he was ignoring him, trying not to tense up. Ever since he'd walked away from Cameron's office-still with no idea of what he'd been about to say-he'd spent the rest of the day telling people he was fine. There was no reason he _shouldn't _be fine.

It was just that the thought of answering Cameron as though nothing had happened-though technically nothing _had_ happened-now that he realises Cameron probably feels-_obligated_ or-or _required_-to be friendly-it was-well-

(Ed had realised at some point that somehow he'd come to think of texting Cameron as a friendly thing.)

But he hadn't been able to put it into words-the strange shakiness that he could feel rising in his chest when this shouldn't even have _mattered._

Instead, he'd just managed "Things were stressful today, that's all." He'd glanced at Justine, whose hand had been on his shoulder, and then tried for a smile. "There's no story being dug up, I promise."

Justine had been rubbing his shoulder, which Ed had tried not to want to pull away from. It was too close, really. Every time he tried to squeeze the events of the day into short sentences, the words seemed to tangle together, lodging themselves in his throat.

He tells himself that Justine can explain the situation to him from a different perspective, help things fall into place. The way he does when he knows he should tell her something. That's what you're meant to do, after all-talk to each other. Tell each other things.

But this-this was Cameron and something about that had made it far harder to explain.

And so he'd said "Don't worry. I'm just-taking to screening calls." He'd known that should cheer Justine a little-she'd always been keen for him to spend less time on the phone.

Justine had nodded and told him that he was doing the right thing and that he needed to take a break sometimes, but Ed couldn't concentrate entirely. His thoughts kept catching, snagged back onto that moment when Tom had said _Lynton will be happy too._

It had been when he'd been lying in bed, still dwelling on his phone and wondering how on earth he was going to explain this, when Justine had pressed a kiss to his neck and when Ed's eyes had flickered open, she did it again, pressing kisses slowly down to his shoulder and Ed had immediately cast his gaze to the door, his fingers tightening in the sheets. "The kids-"

"They're asleep." Justine had tilted her mouth to his and kissed him, sliding her hands into his hair. Ed had let another glance linger on the door, hoping, but there'd been no sound from either of the boys. Her tongue had been warm and wet in his mouth and Ed had felt the familiar confusion of not really knowing what he was supposed to do with his own. Justine had gently trailed her fingers down his neck, accidentally catching his skin, and, wanting to get away from the sensation more than anything else, Ed had rolled over and kissed her back, trying to concentrate on something else, trying to let his mouth move naturally while carefully examining each movement, scanning it in his head-is this usual? That should feel good, why doesn't-and when she'd gently guided his hands to her hips, he'd made a low sound in the back of his throat that had made Justine laugh, interpreting it in the way anyone would, while Ed told himself not to be so stupid, it's fine, it's fine, the way he's had to most times before, trying to just let Justine pull him on top of her, thoughts grappling for something else to focus on until they'd be able to count it as finished, but they hadn't done it in so long he'd been out of practice letting his mind crawl out of his body, away from the warmth and the wetness and too, too much skin and touch and-

Her breathing had been hot and ragged into his neck and Ed had been biting his lip to not pull away when, staring unseeingly over her shoulder, noting dimly that she'd remembered to put her bookmark in before she started this, he'd realised he was thinking of that moment again-standing in the door, with the need to speak to Cameron, to _do_ something-rising in his throat.

He hadn't thought he'd been any stiller than usual, but after a moment, he'd felt her stop, and had realised too late he hadn't been keeping track of his own movements.

"Ed?" Justine had pulled back, hand pressed into his cheek. "Are you OK?"

It had taken Ed a few moments to look at her and then he'd tried to force a smile. "Nothing. Nothing, just-"

He'd guided her mouth to his again, tried kissing her, telling himself he'll like this, he will, he just needs to stop thinking about it, he's managed to stop thinking about it before, at least a little bit, but his thoughts had kept straying and after a few moments, Justine had leant back and said "Ed, sweetie-"

"I'm sorry." Ed had pulled back, shaking his head. "I'm-I'm th-sorry, I just, I can't seem to-"

"Sweetie, it's all right-"

"No, no-it's just-" Ed hadn't been able to explain it, but then he's never been able to. So he'd just shaken his head and eventually managed "I'm just tired and it-it's not anything you-you're doing-it's just-"

_Just._ He'd had no idea what it was_ just_. (And it had whispered in his chest that it's always _just,_ that maybe this time he was thinking about Cameron, but it's always been _just_, really.)

Justine had been gentle about it and that had made Ed feel even worse-she'd just let him lie down, her hands stroking his hair, and even when he'd closed his eyes, his thoughts had kept running into one another, that lurching shakiness back in his chest as though something might give when he least expected it, trying to ignore the way her fingers had traced his scalp.

And now, he's sitting here in his office, with a koala in his chair and David Cameron waiting for him to say something.

He opens and closes his mouth because Cameron-

Cameron was worried.

About him.

Cameron was worried about him.

But Tom's voice is ringing in the back of his head and it's they that sharpen his tone and almost spit the words out of his mouth. "I suppose _Lynton _was concerned, too?"

Almost immediately, Ed winces at how childish the words sound.

Cameron's staring at him. ""How do-what do you mean about-" He blinks. "He's a _koala."_

Ed blinks. "What?" he asks, the absurdity of Cameron's statement hitting a little too late.

Cameron blinks. "Oh. You mean-Crosby-Lynton _Crosby-"_

Ed stares at him and then glances back at the koala. "You named the _koala _Lynton."

Cameron shakes his head. "It's a long story." He glances at the koala again. "As is why it's here. It's just-Boris-and the kangaroo-" He sighs. "It's a long story."

Any other time, Ed would reflect on what on earth that story could be.

(Then again, it's Boris. Maybe not.)

"What do you mean, Lynton was concerned?" is what Cameron says and that's when Ed laughs, the lurching sensation from the day before returning with a vengeance.

Cameron's staring at him now, brow creased. "Lynton doesn't even know about this" he says slowly, staring at Ed with an expression Ed can't quite decipher. "He doesn't even know why I'm here."

Ed blinks, scrabbling for words. "Well-"

He bites his lip, Cameron moving closer now, hand gripping the back of the koala's chair.

"I expect-" He laughs again, because he's not sure what to react to the sight of Cameron standing there, looking so-

"Well, I suppose-I suppose Lynton will be happy to know-I-I mean that his idea's working th-so well-"

"What idea, Miliband?" There's a bite of annoyance in Cameron's tone now and that makes it easier, for the words to snap out-"That idea about you pretending to get on well with me to improve your ratings, Cameron. I mean-I've no doubt it _worked _rather well-"

_"What?"_

Ed blinks. Cameron is staring at him, eyes wide. He looks as if he's been slapped.

"What on_ earth_ do you mean?" Cameron almost shouts it at him. "You actually think that I'm-I'm spending time with you because Lynton's _asked_ me to?"

Ed stares. Cameron's looking at him, brow furrowed, mouth grasping for words.

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again. "I-"

He shakes his head. "I-I don't-"

With a shock, he realises he doesn't know.

Cameron shakes his head. "I-" He shakes it again and then takes another step forward. "You-you actually-that's not _true."_

Ed's fingers tighten on the edge of his desk because the sheer-the sheer _relief_ of this that hits him-he feels almost-

He almost feels _weak._

Cameron's still staring at him, his own hands gripping the other side of the desk now. "What on earth gave you that idea?"

Ed swallows. "I-" He struggles to steady his voice. "Tom told me-I-he said it didn't look good with publicity and that-Lynton and him had talked about it-"

"Hang on-" Cameron holds up a hand. "Lynton talked about it with him? With Baldwin?"

"That's what Tom said."

He wants to believe that it's not true-wants to believe _Cameron,_ of all people-but then why would Tom-why would he-

"Right." Cameron looks away and Ed watches as he squeezes his eyes shut before pulling his gaze back to Ed's, his hands now gripping the desk even tighter.

"Listen-"

Ed realises he's leant forward somehow, so they're facing each other across the desk.

"I'll be honest with you-"

Ed's stomach drops. He bites his lip hard.

Cameron meets his eyes. "Yes." Cameron doesn't look away and Ed's mouth feels strangely dry. "Lynton told me that we needed to appear more-amenable to each other. For both of us-but-he didn't tell me to do anything else-he-and by the sounds of it, your lot as well-just wanted us to look-well. A little more personable. Less of the Punch-and-Judy politics sort of thing-"

Cameron swallows. "But-that was all. All the rest of it-" He looks away, then back again. "That was nothing to do with them."

Cameron's eyes find Ed's, holding his gaze. "Or-or politics either, come to think of that."

There's a long silence. Ed swallows hard. Cameron's gaze doesn't leave his. Ed can hear the ticking of his watch, which is suddenly very, very loud.

"Oh" is all he can manage, his voice suddenly rather faint.

Cameron just keeps looking at him.

"Is that what you thought?" His voice is lower now. "That all this was-was just a political manoeuvere?"

Ed swallows suddenly, very aware of how close he and Cameron are. His heart seems to be beating very fast. "No" he says, voice barely a whisper.

He doesn't know what quite is happening. He's so near to Cameron, he could count the other man's eyelashes.

"I mean-" Cameron swallows hard, and Ed watches the movement of his throat up and down. "I mean, I'm not sure what it was for you, but for us-"

"It wasn't for us, either." Indignation colours Ed's tone a little. "It won't-I wasn't trying to-" His hands open and close. "It wasn't political for me, either."

Cameron's mouth twitches a little. "Chris said you were upset."

Ed feels the heat rise in his cheeks. "Yes-well-" His eyes dart away from Cameron's, his fingers wrapping together. "N-not upth-set-just-"

Cameron makes a strange, convulsive movement as if he's about to grip Ed's arm but then thinks better of it. "Well-I was-I was worried about you. Miliband."

There's another silence. Ed knows he's blushing, which of course, makes it worse.

"I-I juth-st-I-um-"

Cameron's still watching him and a small smile's playing about his mouth now and that leaves Ed even more confused.

"I thought maybe I'd-ah-done something wrong, as it were."

Ed feels, for the first time that day, a reluctant smile tug at his mouth. "Well, that's nothing new, Cameron."

Cameron rolls his eyes. "I _am_ trying to demonstrate concern for your well-being, Miliband-"

A small laugh escapes then, a little higher than usual. "I-ah-" He stops abruptly and then his eyes meet Cameron's before he can stop himself. "I didn't know what-to say to you."

The words hang there in the air between them.

Cameron gives him that grin again-the one Ed's strangely familiar with from PMQs, that isn't quite _happy,_ but that Cameron seems to pull out whenever he's-

"I thought maybe I'd upset you."

"I can't decide whether that's sensitive or patronising, Cameron."

Cameron's brow creases, but the smile hovers. "I meant it to be the former, rather, Miliband."

Something about the way the dimples deepen in his cheeks as he smiles leaves a strange confusion spiking sharply in Ed's chest.

He waits for one of them to pull back, but neither of them does and then Cameron just tilts his head a little and something about his smile is a little smaller-almost shy and something happens-a warmth that spreads through Ed's chest, an almost giddy feeling that pulls what he knows must be a stupidly happy grin to his mouth.

Cameron's eyes gleam with what looks like amusement but his voice is soft when he says "I was rather worried, you know. About you."

Ed swallows, and tries to pretend his face isn't burning. And that neither of them has moved.

"Thank you" he manages. "It-that was-"

He means to say _appreciated._ He means to say _considerate._

What comes out instead is "Nice of you."

Cameron's eyes soften a little which is when Ed realises that neither of them has leaned back at all.

They both blink, then look away. Cameron moves around the desk towards him and then says, a little quieter "Did you really think it was all political?"

Ed opens his mouth, then closes it again. Strangely, he finds himself grinning uncomfortably.

Cameron grins back, looking a little confused.

Ed grins back again.

The moment stretches out awkwardly.

It's then that Ed realises that they're both standing grinning silently at each other and opens his mouth. "Oh. Well. Thank you. For worrying about me."

Cameron's smile, if possible, broadens.

"Well. Thank you. For being all right."

"Right."

They look at each other for another moment and then Cameron says "Besides, I wouldn't do that to you."

"What?"

"Well." Cameron clears his throat, looks away. "You know. Use it. Politically. This."

Ed's face is suddenly far, far too warm.

Cameron swallows, a little too quickly. "I mean. Well. You know I don't dislike you."

Ed's words stick in his throat.

"I just-wanted to make sure you weren't under some misapprehension." Cameron gives him the smile again, the one he does when he's uncomfortable.

(Ed should feel more gleeful than he does at the idea Cameron is uncomfortable too.)

"I wasn't."

"Good."

Ed feels an irrational wave of irritation and at the same moment the urge to laugh pushes at his mouth.

"I don't dislike you either."

"Good."

"Good."

Ed glares at Cameron. Cameron frowns back. Ed purses his lips and looks away, then looks back to find Cameron doing the same.

"Well, I don't" he says, rather emphatically, and Cameron's mouth twitches. "That's all right then, neither do I."

"I know."

"So do I!"

Cameron's eyes are far bluer this close. Which is precisely when it occurs to Ed that he shouldn't be this close.

"Well." Ed swallows hard. His hand is brushing Cameron's sleeve.

"Well what?"

"Well. Just-well."

He can hear both of them breathing a little too loudly. His hand's still touching David's sleeve.

There's a small thud and both of them spin a little too quickly towards the sound.

The koala is lying on the floor, staring up at them.

Ed watches it for a moment, then turns back to Cameron. "Really, you named it Lynton?"

Cameron's smirk darts back into view. "I wasn't aware you were an expert on the monikers of the average koala family, Miliband."

"Firstly, there are a lot of things you aren't aware of-"

"Of course-"

"Distressingly many for a Prime Minister-"

"Naturally-"

"Secondly, I wouldn't hold it as a badge of pride-"

"And third" Cameron announces, smirk now fully back in place. "One thing you seem to be consistently unaware of is the need for sustenance. Would you like to come and eat lunch-I don't want you to have an easy excuse come May-"

Ed feels his own smile grow rather more quickly than it should, even as his mind catches at the question of what else there is of which he is unaware.

But right now, it's easier to sink into the walk out of his office, Cameron at his side, a sea of curious stares ahead of them and a decidedly oddly-named koala tucked under Cameron's arm.

* * *

"Daddy." Flo's arms are tight around David's neck. "The tree is as big as a _chimney-"_

"It's bigger than that-" Elwen leans against him, cheeks flushed from the cold, even here, safely ensconced in the warmth of the living room. Sam's already making hot chocolate and Florence has apparently decided that her father's face is the best warming tool for her hands.

"No, _no-"_ Flo is shaking her head now. "A chimney is so_ tall_-it almost touches the _sky-"_

David laughs as he lifts her a little higher. He presses a kiss to her cheek, stares out of the window down at the Christmas tree they stood outside the previous night to watch unveiled, the children safely bundled up in coats, out of sight of the cameras, the way they had been tonight when they'd been taken out for a longer look.

"I think Father Christmas might be flying across that sky in a couple of weeks-"

He grins as Florence throws her arms tight around his neck and almost screams _"Father Christmas!"_

Sam appears in the doorway and gives David a grin, while miming slamming her hands over her ears. David winks, shifting Flo a little as he squeezes Elwen's shoulder. "Now, once you've all warmed up, I should think that Libbie might come over-and Luke, if they can get him out of his room-"

He casts a glance over his shoulder at his elder daughter, whilst Flo giggles happily into his neck, and feels his smile fade. Nancy hasn't joined them at the window and she's avoiding David's eyes altogether. She's slumped on the couch, staring into space, without any sign of having heard her father at all.

"Nance?" David eyes her cautiously and after a few moments, his daughter's eyes stray to his face. "Are you OK?"

Nancy blinks, as if the words take a moment to sink in, but then she shakes her head. "Oh-oh, yeah-I guess."

David frowns as Nancy ducks forward again, her face cast red in the glow of the fairy lights. "That doesn't sound very certain."

Nancy just shrugs and David frowns at her. Usually, Nancy would be rolling her eyes. Usually, she'd already be throwing out some preteen Phil Dunphy comparison, while David squeezed her shoulders. But now, she just sits there, staring into space. David's heart twists in his chest.

He opens his mouth but right then is when Flo begins wriggling and twisting in his arms, saying "Daddy, Daddy, I can't _see-"_ and in the time it takes him to pull her back up and ruffle Elwen's hair when Flo's foot nearly catches his head, Nancy slides off the couch and trots quietly out of the room, leaving David to stare after her, the fairy lights flashing on and off all around them.

* * *

George is fairly used to public events and in the car, he grins down at the text he receives from Dave.

_Please wear that high-viz to our next Cabinet meeting._

George sniggers.

_That text could be seen rather doubtfully, Prime Minister._

_As doubtful as our latest Member of Parliament?_

_Not as doubtful as referring to Salmond as "our"._

_Probably the only way to keep us all safe from him. Though I think that might be Labour's problem._

George frowns. Labour has a lot of problems, but Salmond?

_Salmond?_

_Just an idea of Lynton's. Talk about it when you get back._

George knows David better than he knows politics. And he knows politics too well.

And now, staring at his phone, he has to reflect that he knows when David's on the brink of a new idea-and this one has something to do with the SNP.

His phone buzzes again and this time when George sees the name on the screen, his heart sinks.

Clegg's name feels like a shout and he doesn't need to read more than the first few lines-_You cannot keep ignoring my fucking calls, we have got to fucking sort this out-_to gather the tone.

Ignoring the niggle in the back of his brain to reply, he lets his finger dance across the screen. It's almost too easy to use these phones. You can get rid of something before you let yourself think about it.

Before he's finished reading it, the message is deleted.

* * *

Ed stares mournfully at the Christmas tree, which, to his consternation, never seems to be quite straight enough.

He glances at Daniel, who's currently holding on with his arms around Ed's neck. "Are you enjoying putting baubles on?"

Daniel turns the ornament over and over in his hands. "Why can't Mummy help?"

Ed shakes his head, trying to keep his eyes away from the door. "Mummy's very busy" he says, which is what he said when Daniel shoved the paper onto the floor after the fifth timed flash of the camera for the Christmas card and he'd tried not to wince when his son had almost spat out "Mummy's _always _too busy."

Now, Sam nods, clearly distracted by the brightness of the fairy lights, but Daniel pushes out his lip. "Mummy's not _busy. _Mummy just sticks up for _plants."_

Ed stares at his elder son whose lip sticks out even further as Daniel stares right back at him.

_"Daniel."_ He hardens his voice, waiting for his son to apologise, with big eyes and pursed lips, the way he always does after a few moments.

But this time, Daniel just glares back at him and Ed stares at his son, taking in the fact he's almost glowering. He grasps for what he's supposed to do in this situation, the appropriate warning or punishment he's supposed to dish out.

But then Sam tugs at his trouser leg, bleating "Daddy, Daniel-" and in the moment that Ed glances down at his younger son, Daniel wriggles violently, kicks a little and then slides out from under Ed's arm, dropping to the floor.

_"Daniel-"_ The cry's torn from Ed's throat as his son blinks, clearly shaken. But when Ed reaches for him, Daniel bounces upright, and takes his younger brother's hand, guiding him to the tree as Ed stares askance at the back of their heads.

* * *

"Speak to him, George."

"That's an unusual opening."

"I'm serious." Danny's voice is lower than usual and George feels his own smile fade as he resigns himself to the fact Danny wants a Serious Conversation.

"You're out of line here, you know."

George stops. Danny's voice is a little smaller now, but oddly firm when he speaks again. "You agreed those plans."

"Yes, I know I agreed the plans-"

"And now you're saying you disagree, just like-"

"I'm not saying I _disagree." _George leans back against the wall, keeping his own voice level. "I'm saying I've looked at them again and I just need to question some-"

"You promised he could launch it on Friday."

"That was before I checked it-"

"George." Danny's voice slices across his own. "This is Nick's bloody _constituency. "_

"I know that."

_"No-"_ Danny's voice spirals a little now, wavering louder. "George, you _don't _know that. Or you're not _acting _like you know that. This is important to Nick. You don't know _how_ important-"

He stops. George waits.

"I don't know how important it is?"

(It doesn't need to be a question.)

For a moment, Danny just breathes on the other end of the phone. Then, George hears him say, louder, "It doesn't matter."

There's a pause and then "That doesn't matter. Just-this needs to be sorted out." Danny's voice is crisper now, sharper.

(Not really Danny, or at least not the Danny George likes.)

"I know that, which is why I'm-"

"No, George. This needs to be sorted out _soon."_

George doesn't tell Danny and hopes Danny doesn't know that sorting this out soon might be the best thing for Nick, which is why George is keen to drag it out as long as possible.

* * *

* * *

_Why the fuck are you ignoring me?_

_Clegg, this shouldn't be discussed over the phone._

_We shouldn't be fucking discussing this at all. And it's not over the fucking phone._

_I'm not going to talk if you can't be practical._

_This isn't about fucking practicality. You promised. It should have been launched last week._

_This is childish, Clegg._

_I don't care. This is my fucking constituency._

_It will still work for your constituency._

_You know and I know that isn't fucking true._

_We'll talk about this face to face._

_And when will that be?_

_I have a busy schedule, Clegg._

_I used to think you had some fucking decency._

* * *

David supposes he'd be tired anyway after a flight to and then from Turkey, but sitting in this Polish hotel room, heart aching with how much he wishes he could hug each one of his children right now, he knows that his head's aching with far more than an excess of air travel.

He still remembers the bite of cold in the air as he'd walked through the gates, wrapped snugly in a jacket and he'd stood there, thinking of thin striped pyjamas and shaved heads and of course, he'd known all the details before, but actually seeing it there is something different, something that had left David sick and shaking.

Now, lying on his hotel bed, for the first real time alone he's had since he got on the plane to Turkey, he wishes there was someone to talk to without having to assume the usual diffident air.

It usually comes naturally to him (it's not as though it's some kind of _front)._ David's always found it a lot easier not to get worked up until one knows it's absolutely necessary-

He reaches for his mobile phone and is already hovering over Samantha's number when he remembers she'll be putting the kids to bed and they'd agreed that he wouldn't speak to them until the next morning. The children might know he was visiting a concentration camp today but David doesn't want to take the risk of a sudden bout of emotion hitting him on the phone and frightening them.

So instead, he scrolls to George's name, then remembers that he's probably in a meeting. It's only then that it occurs to him that there is someone else he could call.

He's missed PMQs, after all. This could count as compensation in a way.

"Reached enough people to warn them of the evils of the Tories, Miliband?"

Miliband laughs, a little higher on the other end of the phone. "How do you know?"

"I've heard about your speech." David feels a smile tug at his mouth as he lies back on the bed. "How did the Tory-hating seem to come across?"

"Rather well." He can hear Miliband's voice, a little lower now as he asks "How's the bargaining away of the country going?"

David laughs but the sound comes out a little weak. "Not quite as rapid as your party would have managed it but-" He debates whether to say it and then decides he might as well. "Just-had a tougher day today. Not with anything to do with the country, before you start scribbling on your manifesto-"

He waits for the laughter but instead, Miliband's voice softens. "Why?"

David swallows. "I'm-um-I'm in Poland." His voice is smaller than he'd hoped.

Miliband doesn't say anything. David takes a deep breath.

"I've-um-I've just visited Auschwitz-"

There's a short silence and then, quietly "Are you OK?"

David swallows. "Yes." It comes out as a nervous laugh which is choked off quite quickly. "I mean-no, I mean-obviously I'm OK, but it's just-you know-I'm just a little-"

Ed doesn't finish the sentence for him. Something about that makes something unfurl underneath David's ribs, something that blossoms in a way that leaves David suddenly clutching the phone closer to his ear, holding onto it in the middle of all the strangeness and the distance and the loneliness of the hotel room and the chill in the air.

Something that's almost a _warmth-_

"It's just-" David knows he's babbling a little. "It was just-awful. I mean-I _knew_ it was awful-"

The word sounds so horribly small. "But-somehow_-seeing_ it-" He takes a deep breath and only then realises that his fingers are digging into the bedcovers and that he's trembling. "It was-"

All he can see in his mind are the eyes of those children-so many of them, their heads shaved, their hair swept away like whatever they might have grown up to be.

"God-" A laugh breaks out but it's tiny, a fragment, really. "God, that sounds stupid. _I _sound stupid, I'm sorry-"

"No, you don't."

The words aren't exactly comforting but something about that makes them more reassuring. Ed's said it as if he's stating a fact. And somehow, David says "Thank you."

"What for?"

"I needed to hear it."

He can almost see the slight shrug of Miliband's shoulders. "It's the truth, Cameron."

David finds himself pressing the phone into his ear, leaning back a little. "It-was awful" he manages, something shifting in the air between them, that warmth loosening his voice a little. "I mean-it was just, truly-awful."

He laughs, and this time, the sound's a little too shaky-"God, it was just-" He shakes his head, unable to finish.

Miliband's voice is sharper this time. "Are you on your own, David?"

The use of his first name sends a thrill of something through David. "Yes."

Miliband is silent for a moment and then says quietly "You shouldn't have gone on your own. Not there."

"I know. But-" David can barely remember why he thought it was a good idea to come here alone.

And then Miliband's voice, crackling a little down the line, and with the distance between them. "I'll stay."

The warmth suddenly creeps into David's cheeks.

"Thank you" he says quietly, and Miliband says, just as quietly, "It's fine."

David shakes his head. "It's just-I didn't know what to write" he says and this time, his voice catches in his throat. "In the Remembrance Book. I mean, what _do_ you write?"

"That's all right." Ed's voice is lower now. "I mean-I don't think anyone knows what to say."

David shakes his head. "I just-didn't know what to do" he says, tugging at the duvet. "I mean-there was nothing I _could _do."

"You went, though." Ed's voice is softer now. "I mean-maybe that's all you could do but-I think it counts."

David swallows. "Just-" He bites his lip. "I wanted to talk to the kids" he says quietly. "I know it's selfish but-I really wanted to talk to them."

"It's not selfish" Ed says, without hesitation. "Anyone would want to, Cameron."

David clears his throat. "It's just-I mean, it's not as though it was _my_ history" he says quietly. "I mean-it's all of our history-but it's not as if I personally _knew_ anyone who-" He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath. "I suppose it just feels-"

"Just because you didn't know them doesn't mean it didn't-_affect_ you" Ed says quietly. "I mean-I didn't-well, I did-but-just because you didn't know someone doesn't mean it didn't-doesn't affect you-"

David feels himself frown. "Miliband?"

Ed waits a few moments before he clears his throat and says "It's just-you know. Being Jewish, it-"

David could kick himself.

"Oh. Oh, God-sorry. I didn't think-"

"It's fine-"

"And honestly, I really didn't-"

"No, it's-"

David bites his lip. "It's just-I've been going on at you and all the time-"

"It's OK." Ed's voice is low and then he says "I'm glad you called. I mean-you shouldn't be somewhere like that on your own."

"Well-" David tries for a laugh. "Not entirely alone. Rather an occupational hazard-but right now-yes" and his voice is suddenly sadder, smaller. "I'm alone."

Ed's voice is soft. "I'll stay" he says again and again David says "Thank you."

He leans back further on the bed. "Have you ever been here?"

There's a pause and then "No." Ed's voice is lower and then he takes a sharp indrawn breath as if about to say something. "I mean, one day-but no. Not yet."

David opens his mouth but Ed says a little too quickly "I'm glad you called."

"You're-"

"Glad. That you called." Ed's voice hovers there between them and then he says "For calling. David."

David swallows. "Oh. Well. I wanted to speak to you-"

He'd thought he meant to say _someone._

"Oh. Well. Um. That'th-that'th-that's f-flattering-"

It's as that lisp touches David's ears that that warmth blooms in his chest again and he finds warmth blooms in his chest again, a small smile creeping across his mouth. Something about the lisp is just so_-Milibandy._

It and Miliband himself are so familiar and suddenly David finds himself seized with a fierce longing to be home-not just with his wife and children but surrounded by the faces, the voices he knows-and Miliband's one of them, the one he's most familiar with arguing with and the longing to be there is so sudden, it's like a grabbing at his chest-

"Well. I'm glad."

"Um-b-but honeth-stly. Are you all right?"

David, considering, is rather surprised on the whole to find that yes, he is, at least, a little better. "I'm OK" he says quietly. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Ed's voice is lower. "When are you coming ho-back?"

For some reason, the unspoken word sends a small jolt of joy through David's ribs.

"Tomorrow" he says, already trying to count how many hours that'll be.

"Well, Nick will be relieved, after today." Miliband's voice is a little more teasing now, the provoking little jibe back that he knows will make David grin.

"I believe Harriet will stay the same."

Ed laughs.

"Well done on the speech, by the way."

"Thank you."

"You've got another one tomorrow, haven't you?"

"Rather brilliant tracking there, Cameron. Now, you just need to get your Chancellor to pay the economy the same attention-"

David laughs. "Maybe you're focusing a little too much on my tracking there, Miliband. And not enough on spreading the message about what horrific money-hoarding Tories we are."

Ed laughs again but the sound's shorter this time, dropping away like a stone. David too falls silent for a moment, holding onto a thought that has just occurred to him.

"It's strange" he says, before he can think twice. "We'll be saying far worse about each other in a few months time."

Miliband is silent for a long moment. David waits for some line about _"That may be Conservative methods, Cameron" _but instead he just says, very quietly "Yes. I know."

David swallows, the truth of it hanging there, too heavy to move. Maybe it's where he is or the conversation or a mixture that makes him say "You know I don't enjoy it, don't you?"

"Enjoy what?"

"When-" David swallows. "When it gets more personal. When we-you know-"

There's a short silence.

"I mean, I'd guess you're a little fonder of highlighting my shortcomings-"

"No." Ed's voice is sharp suddenly, louder, jabbing the air. "No, I don't."

David grasps for words. He ends up saying, rather feebly, "Oh."

There's another silence and then Ed says "You're right." He pauses and then says, with an obvious struggle to lighten the tone, "Th-sorry-you-you know what they say-a week is a long time in politics-"

David laughs and the knowledge that they both want to believe that a little more than they should settles between them, a weight on their ribs.

"Still-" David's voice is lighter now. "At least it gave Harriet some practice. When she takes over in May-"

"You mean as Deputy Prime Minister, Cameron?"

"Getting in some practice with Nick? Lecturing the world about how cruel I am?"

He expects a remark thrown back or at least a snigger, but Miliband's voice is far, far softer. "I don't think you're cruel, Cameron."

The words are quiet, almost shy.

"You don't?" David's are more nervous than they should be.

"No." Miliband takes a breath and then says "Not even close."

David swallows. His heart is suddenly rapid. "Thank you." His voice scratches in his throat.

"Of course-" Miliband's voice is a little lighter now. "Not being cruel isn't the same as being _competent-"_

David sighs, something like relief uncurling at this-this, what he knows with Miliband. "It's good you're aspiring to a competent campaign, Miliband. Though maybe don't strain yourself-"

"Where did you get_ campaign_ from? The same place you find all those extra finances-"

David leans back into his pillow, letting his eyes flutter closed. He just lies there, phone pressed against his cheek, Miliband's voice edged with that lisp right there in David's ear, almost as though they're next to each other, pulling a smile back to David's mouth.

* * *

Ed rakes his hands through his hair, muttering "Winter fuel allowance, child benefit cap" because he can't afford to forget something again, he can't, because if he does, they'll never let him forget it, no one will ever trust him-

He can feel the breath stuttering in his throat, as he tries to even his breathing, staring down at his knees as he tries to calm himself-

Strangely enough, it's Cameron's words from the day before that spring to mind. His voice had been a little lighter then and Ed had felt a pang of relief at that, at the fact that Cameron seemed a little more cheerful than when he'd started the conversation, that somehow his choice to call Ed had worked.

"Good luck on your speech, tomorrow" he'd said and Ed had found himself smiling even as Cameron added "I'll be waiting for the insults."

"Well, I'm sure you won't be disappointed" he'd said and David's voice had cracked into laughter on the other end.

Now, there's a hand on his shoulder and Ed jumps as if he's been caught doing something wrong.

"You'll be fine" says Bob, without preamble as he sinks down next to Ed.

"Thank you" Ed mutters without lifting his head.

Bob touches his shoulder. "Stewart and Torsten are just checking reporters" he says, as Tom takes a seat on their other side. "But we just wanted to check something before you give your-"

"Job interview?" mutters Tom. Bob glares at him.

Tom shrugs. "You're the one who kept calling it back."

Bob sighs and, glancing about, lowers his voice, even though there's no-one around to hear. "We just wanted to check rehearsal arrangements."

Ed swallows hard. "You mean for the debates?"

Tom rolls his eyes "No, Ed. We mean for fucking Peter Pan. You're going to be flapping around a stage dressed in revealing tights while Cameron waltzes around in a beard, slinging his fucking hook at you."

Ed tries not to let his mind linger on that image. For some reason, Cameron's voice biting out _masosadism _leaps in instead and Ed feels his teeth dig into his lip, as his thoughts scrabble for purchase.

"What I would have said-" Bob chips in, aiming a glower at Tom. "Is that yes, the rehearsals for debates. We think it's best they start before the end of the year. That way, we can gain an advantage." He glances at Tom. "You'll note I managed that without the use of crippling sarcasm."

Tom raises an eyebrow and then claps slowly, one hand delivering several slow slaps to the other.

"The thing is-" Bob turns back to Ed. "We're thinking-we're probably going to need to incorporate Nicola into the debates."

Ed blinks at him and Bob hastens to explain. "Not Nicola herself. Just-someone to play her."

"Since the SNP seem to have bloody crawled into life" mutters Tom.

"And we could have more in common with them than the Tories" Bob explains, at which point Tom snorts so hard Ed's tempted to check that he hasn't suddenly transformed into a pig.

Ed stares from one to the other, something not quite clicking into place. "Are you talking about-"

That's when it clicks. "You're not thinking of forming an _alliance-"_

"No" Bob says a little too quickly and Ed shakes his head because "Bob, we are _not-"_

They have to get a majority. They have _to._

"No, we are not, my Righteous Honourable Friend" Tom interrupts, before Bob can say anything. "We're saying we think they might be thinking of forming one with _us."_

"What we're saying-" Bob chips in before Ed can speak. "Is that we'll have to foster some differences between the two parties,_ should_ they offer an alliance. Unless, we'd end up willing to-"

"No" Ed interrupts because he's already said he's not planning for coalition with the Lib Dems, let alone an alliance with a party that until quite recently was run by Alex bloody Salmond. "We are _not _forming an alliance with the SNP."

Tom and Bob exchange a quick, unreadable glance before Bob says, a little too easily, "Fine. But in that case, we'll have to foster the differences. Because if they _do _want an alliance and they go public with that-"

"The Tories will fucking leap all over it" says Tom succinctly. He eyeballs Ed. "Unless, of course, Cameron's already telling you all this."

Ed stares at him. "What?"

Tom arches an eyebrow. "Unless Cameron's spilling all these details to you? At your barbecues, tea parties, etc.-"

Ed stares at him for a moment before he manages to speak. "Cameron-" he says, keeping his voice determinedly level. "Has not asked me_ anything _about our campaign. And he's said nothing about his."

Tom's eyebrows travel even further up his forehead. "Though you wouldn't tell us if he did?"

At _that,_ Ed's head jerks up because he's _not_ going to let Tom imply-

"He" he says slowly, carefully, even as the anger rises hot and sharp in his throat. "Is not discussing his campaign with me. And I'm not discussing mine with him. We don't share those details."

He glares at Tom now, the undercurrent of the words palpable to all three of them.

"If you say so" Tom says and then, eyes sliding away from Ed's, mutters "God knows what you _do_ share, though."

Ed opens his mouth-though with absolutely no idea what to say-but Bob interrupts before he can get the words out.

"As I was _saying-"_ he shoots Tom a meaningful look. "We'll have to get someone to play Nicola. And the others-Spencer was thinking it might be an idea that we have an away day before Christmas-just a chance to start rehearsals-"

"Good-"

"We're still finalising things but we can take turns playing the other lot." Bob snatches a quick glance at his watch. "Stewart's already plumped for playing Clegg. And-well-"

Ed asks the question he knows they want him to. "What about Cameron?"

Tom and Bob exchange a glance, smiles peeking out at both of their mouths. "Well-"

Bob grins and Ed follows their gazes. "Well what?"

"Tom-"

"Hamilton-" Tom interjects (the Tom who most definitely isn't a Hamilton.)

"Will play him sometimes" Bob continues, looking rather as though he's about to deliver a present to an excitable child. (Which Ed would resent another time, but right now, he's a little too busy wondering whether to be excited or terrified.)

"But we've got someone else, too." Bob threads his fingers together. "And he's agreed to help out with the campaign."

"And to pop his head in today-" chips in Tom. "To say hello. Before your speech."

Ed stares from one to the other, taking in the barely concealed grins on both faces. "Who is it exactly we're-"

At that exact moment, a voice comes booming down the corridor. A voice that is rather loud, rather familiar and that makes Ed's head snap up, his mind suddenly hovering on a time long ago when that voice could root him in his seat.

"And I fucking swear, if this lot don't pull their fingers out, I will be bloody _yanking _their fucking fingers out, replacing them with a copy of 2010's bloody exit poll, and shoving it _up _their fucking complacent little arses, and see if that actually gets any of them _doing_ a bloody campaign, instead of lying about like a bunch of fucking dead fish-"

Ed sits very still for a moment, Tom and Bob's identical grins peeking out before all three of them turn just in time to see the man whose voice is remembered only too well, rounding the corner.

"And I'm telling you if I find out there has been another cobbled-together promise, I will be sorely fucking tempted to pick it up and smash the idiot responsible about the fucking head with it and that-that is nothing, I will turn it into a screwdriver, insert it somewhere painful and I will have the half-wit responsible out on the streets quicker than the lot of them get their pants up when the cameras catch them down in bloody Soho, do you hear me? If they don't get their bloody act together, Cameron will be back in Number 10 for the next three sodding decades, and if they do not, they will be fucked so hard that maybe they'll actually be able to croak out some half-decent_ crap_ that might actually let them drag their_ whining _little arses back into power-_good fucking day to you too."_

The man shoves his phone back into his pockets and glances up at the three assembled before him. He blinks. "Sorry about that. Friend of mine-" He laughs. "Well-I say friend. More like the sort of knob who attaches himself to you for a free drink, but-"

He glances between them. "I really hope this isn't the average line of the campaign, this-" He gestures. "This impaired-goldfish-watching-porn look. Because I'll be honest with you, if it is, we are basically fucked nine ways to Sunday."

There's a long silence. Ed stares at the man before him, grasping for words for the sight of the brilliant, erratic, possibly mildly _deranged _man standing in front of him who just might be his campaign saviour.

It's Bob who finally breaks the silence, a slow grin creeping across his mouth. "Hello, Alastair."

* * *

David doesn't expect his first day back in the office to involve a sudden commotion outside the door but then David's learnt not to expect things.

He does, however, look up with a frown, wondering if Brown has suddenly cracked and decided it's time he reclaim what he no doubt thinks of as his rightful place as Prime Minister, and it's then that Gavin's voice garbles into the room.

"Er-Prime Minister-we have someone-the Deputy Prime Minister is here-"

"I want to see him _now."_

David barely has time to blink at this when the door is thrown open.

Nick's standing there in the doorway with a face like thunder. Gavin is behind him, hands hovering in the air where he has clearly failed, despite his best efforts, to prevent the throwing open of said door.

"Prime Minister, I tried to tell you-"

"I need to see you" Nick says abruptly, stepping into the office without even a greeting. "Now."

David blinks but eyeing Nick cautiously, decides this is not the moment to exercise Parliamentary procedure and instead just says "Come in."

Nick steps in and David gives Gavin a smile. "Thanks." He's about to close the door when he remembers the way Miliband would do it and says "I'll take it from here." He gives Gavin a quick smile as he shuts the door behind them and turns to Nick.

Nick's standing there, brows knitted over his eyes and David knows that this might take careful handling.

"Cup of tea, Nick?" he offers him and Nick's head snaps up, eyes narrowing.

David knows this might take more careful handling.

"You need to speak to Osborne" Nick barks out, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You need to speak to him, for fuck's sake."

David holds up a hand. "All right-"

"Don't _all right_ me." Nick's shaking and his eyes are a little overbright. "Osborne is fucking me over in my own bloody constituency."

"He just wants to check-"

"He does not want to fucking _check."_ Nick almost spits out the reply, his fists clenched tight. "He won't even fucking meet me face to face. He does not want to fucking _check._ He is trying to bloody undermine me."

"George isn't-"

_"Yes, he is."_ Nick's finger stabs the air with each word. "You _know_ he is. He agreed these plans."

David takes in a deep breath, then exhales. It's always easy-the angrier your opponent gets, the calmer you become.

It's then that he realises he's already thinking of Nick as his opponent.

"George just wants some time to re-examine them" he says, keeping his voice low. "I understand you're angry-"

"George is crossing _the reddest of red lines_." Nick's fist crashes down on David's desk. "And you're letting him do it."

The truth is that David has let him do it.

It is just rechecking the details. It is just re-assessing a decision.

It's just at a time that's difficult for Nick.

And David chooses not to wonder if that's why George has suggested that now is the time to do it.

"He's not doing it intentionally" he says, his voice softer now. "This is just-unfortunate timing."

"Oh, it's bloody _unfortunate timing."_ Nick almost spits the words again. "And that's _exactly_ why he's fucking doing it."

David steps towards him then, so that they're a few inches apart. "That's what you think?" he says quietly, deliberately. "That George is using this as a political tactic?"

Of course he is; too many things with George can be a political tactic, at least nearing election time.

But he's going to make Nick say it.

Nick stares back at him. "You know George" he says, which isn't an answer and they both know it.

David just arches an eyebrow.

"He is screwing me over in my own bloody constituency." Nick's voice shakes a little and that's when David reaches out to touch his arm.

Nick pulls away. _"Don't."_

"I'll speak to him" because they can't afford this right now. They can't afford the Coalition to fall apart with only a few months left and this isn't ideal.

He knows what George was trying to do, but this isn't ideal.

"Good luck in bloody getting _hold_ of him" Nick almost shouts and David holds up a hand. "Nick-"

"Is this some kind of tactic?"

David meets his gaze. "Excuse me?"

"Is this some kind of tactic for you?"

"I just said-"

"Not for George." Nick meets his eyes. "For you."

They watch each other silently.

When David speaks, his voice is low. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything."

"Well, it certainly sounds like-"

Nick takes another step forward. "You _know"_ he says, his voice lower. "You know what this is leading up to. You _know."_

David looks back at him and says nothing.

Nick stares for another moment-then shakes his head, hand squeezing his other arm as if looking for comfort. "Forget it" he says, the words harsh in the air. "Just make sure George approves the bloody plan."

David touches his arm then and although Nick doesn't pull away, he stiffens. "Nick."

Nick doesn't look at him.

"This isn't about tactics." David says the words a little louder, as if this might make Nick believe him. "It's not. This is just-"

_Just._

"I'll speak to him" because it's not working. George will see that. He'll have to manouvere his attacks from a different angle-one not centred around Nick's constituency.

Nick looks up at him then and nods once. "Thank you." The words are curt, short.

David nods and after a moment, lets his hand fall from Nick's arm. A short silence stretches out between them.

It needs to last a few more months.

David tries to push away the fact that he hoped it would last longer than this.

* * *

Ed feels a little like he did as a teenager, he decides, around the time the clock hits midnight. It's a party and he's still searching for words, trying to decide how best to broach a conversation. It could be the 80s again, apart from the fact he has a wife with him, there are smartphones everywhere he looks and everyone's significantly older.

And there are Tories here.

To be scrupulously fair, this shouldn't have come as a surprise to Ed. He had asked Cameron if he was going, after all-which had raised an eyebrow from Justine, leading him to point out that he'd already known Cameron's aides were coming.

"Gabby's going" he'd pointed out, straightening his suit. "And Ameet. And Robinson will be there, and you know how half the hard-left calls _him_ a closet Tory-"

"Robinson?" Justine had glanced up at him. "Nick Robinson? The one we had dinner with?"

"Yep." Ed had nodded, buttoning his shirt. "And he's got to be non-partisan, it's BBC-required. Not that anyone th-sticks to that-" He'd folded up his sleeves. "And he's friendly with Cameron, too."

Now, standing here with Justine, his mind buzzing with the latest Tory slip-up-the cuts are ideological, _God_, why would they _say _that, why can't they _see_ it's not going to work-he finds himself, even as he grins, wondering what Cameron would think of all this.

He pulls out his phone.

_Pity you aren't here, Cameron. We could always discuss your latest attempts at cuts._

He waits for a few minutes. When Cameron doesn't reply, he shoves the phone back into his pocket with a frown. Something about Cameron not replying jabs at him, even as he tells himself that Cameron's probably just trying to deal with the current catastrophes on his end.

This strangely doesn't feel as gratifying to Ed as it should and he might be a little more concerned about that if it wasn't for the fact that he catches sight of Robinson across the room. He makes an excuse to Justine and is just making his way over when a hand claps him on the shoulder.

"Tories hanging around" comes Alastair's voice in his ear. Ed tries to smile and tamp down the anxiety rising a little too sharply in his chest. He tries to remind himself that Alastair's on his side, supposed to be helping him.

"Well-" He tries to keep his voice light. "You wouldn't want to be a hypocrite, Alastair." His voice comes out a little too high. "I mean, we've all heard about you and some of your-um-well-" His voice is worryingly rapid, but he carries on, seized by a sudden urge to show Alastair that he'll make it worth his while, that it won't be a waste of his time-

"I mean, with what you said about Osborne-I suppose it's a way of advocating for cross-party cooperation, but I-um-" Ed's voice trails off as he realises he's forgotten what joke he was trying to make, or if it was even supposed to be a joke at all.

Alastair stares at him for a long moment, before he says "Fucking hell, Miliband, you really do need some fucking help."

Ed swallows hard. This is what Alastair is _for_, he tells himself.

And he can deal with this. He has to. And Alastair's just being-

He's just glad no one else has heard.

No one like Justine or Cameron or-

He blinks at the fact that he's just thought of Justine and Cameron in the same sentence.

Alastair's staring at him and Ed bites his lip. "I-"

Alastair takes a deep breath, then turns to one of the caterers. "Excuse me. I need a Scotch. Before I grab one off the nearest fucking table and pour it down my throat-"

The caterer blinks, as does Ed.

Alastair stares at them both for a moment-then his mouth breaks into a grin. "Joke" he says, with a grin and a gentle touch to the woman's arm. "Glass of lemonade, please."

When the confused-looking caterer moves off, Alastair grabs Ed's arm, none too gently. "Look, Miliband, you might have gathered I don't exactly hold back-"

Ed resists the urge to burst out laughing with great difficulty.

"So I'm going to be honest with you, tomorrow."

Ed blinks. "Tomorrow?"

Alastair is handed his drink-a safely non-alcoholic lemonade-which he accepts with a grin and knocks back.

"Thank you. And yeah, tomorrow-" He turns back to Ed. "And don't stare like that, it makes you look like you're not in control."

He takes another gulp, then says without preamble. "Yeah. So, debate prep tomorrow. We'll pick you up."

Ed stares at him. "No-one told me-"

Alastair looks at him as if he's stupid. "I'm telling you right now. Pick you up at eight."

"Eight?"

Alastair rolls his eyes. "Miliband" he says, still sounding perfectly friendly." Let me give you a fucking reality check. You're in a fucking General Election. You prepare for it. You rehearse. You don't turn up and try and fucking throw something together out of whatever shit you're given that day. You're not in the Great Fucking British Bake-Off. Which is fucking torture, when you're dieting, by the way."

Ed's still blinking when Alastair says "I'd tell Justine because you do _not_ want to have that come as a surprise in the morning."

Ed stares. "But-" He's about to protest that he'd left Daniel and Sam with the nanny tonight, that Sam's been so quiet this weekend, that Daniel had just shrugged when Ed had told him they were going out and said "You're _always_ out."

When Justine had held out her arms and said "Aren't you going to kiss us goodbye?", Daniel had just shrugged and turned away, sitting back down beside Sam, with his back to his mother's arms.

Now, Alastair arches an eyebrow. "Ed" he says suddenly and sharply. "I'm not going to lie to you. These next few months? You're not going to have an easy time. Trips to the park? Wave goodbye to the trips to the park. Lie ins? You're more likely to wake up in sodding North Korea. This? This debate prep is nothing compared to what you've got in the next few months. Your wife had a birthday recently?"

Ed blinks at the sudden change in topic. "Yeah-yes, in September-"

"Good." Alastair takes a swig of lemonade. "Any time soon, and you wouldn't have been with her." He claps Ed on the shoulder. "And you're going to feel lousy about it. But that's the way this works. And if you can't handle it, we need to fucking _know."_

Ed swallows hard, grip warm around his glass. "I-" He swallows again, wonders vaguely where Justine is. Wonders how on earth he suddenly feels pinned down on the spot. Wonders, for a strange moment, how Cameron would answer this.

But it's just him and so he just meets Alastair's gaze and says "Tomorrow, then. Eight."

Alastair claps him on the arm. "Atta boy."

He knows Alastair notices he didn't answer his question and wishes he didn't have to notice himself.

* * *

It's a few minutes later that he manages to finagle his way into leaning against the wall next to Nick Robinson. He tries to look casual as he sips at his drink, tries to ignore all the worries suddenly niggling about what to do with his other hand, and whether or not Nick's bored, and why he suddenly seems to be groping for words.

"Um-hi-" he manages, feeling ridiculously stupid, especially considering he and Justine had dinner with Nick and his wife, Pippa, just a few months ago. "Hi, Nick-"

Nick, of course, seems completely at ease. "Hi, Ed. Good night?"

"Um-yes. Yeah-yeah-great, great, um-I-"

It had been Alastair who'd pointed Nick out to him with the words "See if you can speak to him. Keep the press onside. God knows they'll be fucking gunning for you enough in the next few months."

And somehow, Ed has found himself standing with Nick, trying to make conversation and wishing, rather desperately, that Justine would turn up or that he could call Marc or that Cameron would get back to him.

"How's your night been?" he asks a little too loudly and then tries not to wince as Nick smiles.

"Fantastic, so far. Bit of a reunion for New Labour though, isn't it?"

Ed tries to laugh again. "Yes-yes, um-just a pity Tony and Gordon aren't here-could finish the evening with an argument-"

He has no idea why he finds it so difficult. He can talk to his colleagues, laugh with them, even to interviewers-but sometimes, with speeches or the press-or just people-sometimes, he just-

Nick laughs again. "Last Christmas before the election." He arches an eyebrow. "Everything could be very different this time next year."

Ed swallows hard and tries to push away how uncomfortably close to home the words are. But the fact is, Nick's right. Ed has no idea what the situation could be this time next year-with him, Cameron, almost everyone he knows-when he thinks of-

He realises then that this is the kind of moment that Alastair would tell him to take advantage of, and so it's then that he says, perhaps propelled by those visions of the future, "Heard about the Tories' latest cuts?"

Nick raises an eyebrow. "Quite a bit. Why?"

Ed knows what Alastair would do here, knows what he'd tell Ed to do and he almost trips over his words in an effort to get them out. "Oh, I-I just wondered what you thought of their motivation-I mean, the fact that they're cutting more-"

"Things Can Only Get Better" is starting and a few cheers break out. But Nick keeps his eyes fixed on Ed, encouraging him to continue.

"More than is necessary-that is just a_ clear_ indication of their ideology-"

"Darling-" Justine's hand's on his elbow, interrupting Ed's train of thought. "Sorry, Nick-"

Nick gives her a brief, warm smile, the type he sometimes seems to specialise in giving.

"I was just wondering if you'd like a dance to this-" Justine hardly needs to explain-half the room are now dancing which serves a second purpose of telling Ed who's been taking advantage of the free drinks.

He glances between her and Nick, torn for a moment, and then remembers Alastair's words from earlier.

"Sorry, darling-" He bites his lip, glances between them again. "Just in the middle of telling Nick-"

"Oh. "Justine's eyes flicker from Ed to Nick and a shadow crosses her face for barely a second before she puts a hand on Ed's arm. "OK, darling-"

"Sorry-" Nick interjects with a grin. "Stealing your husband on a Saturday night-"

Justine laughs and Ed does as well, but a second too late.

Justine touches his arm and tells him "I'm going to go and see if there's anyone who can tear themselves away from politics for five minutes-"

Ed laughs but he can feel himself fidgeting, eager to tell Nick as soon as possible, and when he turns round, he almost pushes the words out. "See, the problem with what the Conservatives want to do is that it exposes the _mettle _of their ideology-" Nick's listening and Ed almost falls over the words. "You see, this just goes to _prove_ that austerity _isn't_ about the state of society, it's about-it's _about _the Conservatives' basic ideology."

He seizes on the theme gratefully. "Austerity _is_ the Tories' ideology."

Nick gives him a grin and says "Suppose that's Labour's next headline?"

"Well, it hardly needs to be said-" He tries to laugh because if he can just get the message out that _this_ is what the Tories are up to, what they _really_ intend, they'll have a chance to make a difference- "This is what we need to make sure people _know."_

Nick arches an eyebrow. "Looks like we've got a lot to look forward to in the election coverage" he says, as usual, annoyingly non-partisan.

Ed nods and smiles and then finds himself anticipating the rest of the evening stretching out in front of him. When he glances down at his phone, he sees Cameron's name on the screen.

_How innovative, Miliband. It's almost as though you haven't talked about this for the last five years._

Ed shouldn't smile as hard as he does. But in the middle of a party with his wife laughing with one of his friends, it's Cameron's words on the screen that leave him smiling and not for the reasons Alastair would like.

* * *

David would not usually spend his Saturday night texting with one hand and on the phone with the other, while Samantha wonders aloud if they'll have the most boring retirement in all of history.

"I'm sure we won't be the _most _boring" David muses. "I mean, Brown will probably want to take that title for _his_ relationship-"

"Sorry, I'm confused." Sam lowers her magazine. "Is it me or George that you're talking to?"

"Is that Sam?" George sounds completely unperturbed on the other end of the phone. "Frances threw me into the spare room an hour ago and told me that she'd heard more about Ed Miliband from me in the last hour than she ever has from bloody Justine-"

"Well, she's never fought an election-"

"Well, usually, this would be for aides-"

"Well, I didn't actually _tell_ you to do anything; you basically called me and began orating details about Miliband's past-you do know we're not on _This Is Your Life?_ -I'm hardly going to introduce Miliband with a dramatic voice and some ridiculous backing music-"

"Know your enemy" George intones, before he bursts out laughing. "Oh dear God, there's a photo here of Miliband and Balls, asking if they're _the next Blair and Brown_-like fucking_ hell _they are, Jesus-"

"Jesus Christ, Miliband would probably _collapse_, if he's being compared to Blair." David props himself up on his pillow. "Brown was basically the man's adopted_ father_, for God's sake-the way he went on about him-"

"Oh? Has he mentioned Brown in all your little tete-a-tetes?"

"Not really." David shrugs, stares at his phone where one of Miliband's texts is emblazoned.

"Mostly, we just-" He searches for a word.

"Jesus, don't leave it too long-" George sounds deeply amused, which is almost never a good sign. "It'll leave me with images that are too fucking awful to contemplate-"

"Oh, shut up." David leans back. "You're the one with the book-how the hell did you get hold of a copy, incidentally?"

"Erm-" David gets the chance to smirk as George waits a second too long before replying. "One of my aides handed it over."

"Mmm. You spoken to Nick yet?"

There's a short silence, as David expects. Then, "I emailed him."

"Approved the plans?"

"Yes. For the New Year."

"Ah." David lets the silence hang for a moment and then "Did he get back-"

"Yes. Briefly."

David sighs, opens his mouth, then thinks better of it. George is silent, obviously shoving the ball into David's court.

He waits another moment, then says "Isn't it by that Hasan?"

There's the briefest of pauses, then "Yeah, him and Macintyre."

David hears George flipping through pages, both of them returning to the book a little too enthusiastically, and then there's a burst of laughter. "My God, did you know we are _hollow men?"_

"We're _what?"_

George clears his throat. "_"Cameron and Osborne, who he viewed as hollow men-""_

David raises an eyebrow. _"Hollow bloody men?_ Well, that's something for a man who keeps trying to dredge up something even _vaguely _resembling a principle from his own stomach."

"Lovely image." George chuckles down the phone, while David wonders why he doesn't feel as pleased as he should about the joke actually working.

"But us _hollow men-"_ George chuckles again, as he turns a page. "We must do our meagre best for Miliband's lofty standards-oh, look-the frustration in your eyes spurred him on-"

_"What?"_

"I _know."_ David can picture George's grimace. _""He could see the frustration and irritation in the Prime Minister's eyes, which spurred him on-"_ God, it sounds like a novel that'd be confiscated in Victorian times-what on earth was Hasan _on_, writing this?"

"Well, whatever it is, I'd rather like some of it. Though, of course, no doubt Miliband would have a fit if he heard-what he no doubt thinks we partook in in the_ Bullingdon Club-"_

"Heartbreaking." George snorts and David feels a mean stab of pleasure as he thinks of the words _hollow men_ again.

"Well-" George chuckles down the phone, a little louder than necessary. "If these are Miliband's supporters, you can tell Sam you can keep all the furniture in place come May. What a pile of bollocks."

David smiles, soaking in the words with a little more glee than usual. This is him and George, working together, to stay here, in government, where they belong.

This is what he knows.

And, this time-for the first time in a while-thinking of May doesn't come with that pang of something disturbingly close to regret.

* * *

_ Playlist _

_I'm Callin'-Tennis-_ _"But your love is divide/You know I'm coming for you/Let me in, I'm callin'/Come on and let me in, I'm callin'/Can you feel it, night is falling/I'm callin' I'm callin'_

_Our Way To Fall-Yo La Tengo-_ _"We'll try and try even if we last an hour/With all our might, we'll try and make it ours/'Cause we're on our way/We're on our way to fall in love"_

_Barracuda-Heart-_ _"So, this ain't the end/I saw you again today...If the real thing don't do the trick/You better make up something quick/You gonna burn it out to the wick/Aren't you, Barracuda?"_

_Miserable-Tokyo Police Club-"_ _Are you miserable?/I am totally blinded by the sun in my eyes/Are you miserable?/I feel like the only one who gets his way sometimes/Are you miserable/Do you get miserable?"_

_ Allergic (To Thoughts Of Mother Earth)-Placebo-" _ _Heaven in a tourniquet/The after life to keep your eyes on/bitter pill you take you take today/With expert levitation forward/polished to the nth degree/it takes its' smile from every children/you take the beating....Don't let me down/don't let me down/don't let me down/don't let me down"_

_English Tongue-Palma Violets-_ _"You can't judge life if you can't understand/The way that we work we're a close-knit plan/Don't speak to me in that judgement tone/You're going with me or you're going alone...There must be someone with an English tongue/Marking your words for the miles you lost/It's gonna be/A cruel, cruel winter"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David's visit to Auschwitz: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-30419615  
The Christmas tree being put up in Downing Street:http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-politics-30388912/downing-street-s-christmas-tree-lights-are-switched-on  
Ed's speech:https://bit.ly/2TBGmxb  
Alastair is, of course, a recovering alcoholic: https://bit.ly/3cJLQxr  
https://bit.ly/2TVELS9  
Justine did used to call Ed "sweetie" and confiscate his phone:https://bit.ly/3aFt0py  
http://dailym.ai/3cKcHtp  
https://bit.ly/2VXTzCj  
Ed lost relatives in the Holocaust:https://bit.ly/2vS8MtX  
Nick R has been rumoured to lean more towards the Tories than Labour: https://bit.ly/2TCk0vF  
Gabby is Gabby Bertin:http://dailym.ai/2VYgltH  
https://bit.ly/2ILrSF7  
Ameet is Ameet Gill:https://bit.ly/2IvihlD  
You can see Gabby in the documentary "The Cameron Years":https://bit.ly/3bgIqAS  
https://bit.ly/2wsLtag


	11. A Rehearsal Of Reparations, A Frequency Of Festivities And The Perihelionic Parallaxes Of Playgrounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which there is an abundance of parties and drawing between stars can be preferable to considering the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me anything you like about it or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to read any of the articles and can't, just let me know.  
Reference quotes in this chapter refer to David liking art, Ed's birth certificate lapse, David nearly being expelled, the Cameron kids at Chequers, and Samantha's liking for raves.  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_Crosby's polling and research told him that, overall, Cameron's leadership when compared to Miliband was a significant plus for the Tories. His focus groups had also identified the fact that many voters still thought of Miliband as the man who "**stabbed his brother in the back"** to become Labour leader. The bitter sibling contest between David Miliband-the former Foreign Secretary who was the favourite to succeed Gordon Brown-and his upstart brother Ed caused a rift that has still not fully healed. Intriguingly, another background factor that Tory focus groups identified as having **"cut through"** among voters was the fact that Miliband was not named on (one of) his children's birth certificates for some time. The Conservatives decided that this was too sensitive a subject to exploit, but quietly noted its enduring interest nonetheless.-Why The Tories Won: The Inside Story Of The 2015 Election, Tim Ross_

_On the evening of 7 November 2010, Justine gave birth to their second child, Samuel Stewart Thornton Miliband-named after Ed's grandfather (Samuel) and Justine's father (Stewart)-at UCL Hospital in London. A new pair of Miliband brothers had been formed-their eldest, Daniel, was, by this stage, eighteen months old. Ed and Justine released a statement saying they were **"overjoyed"**_ _ by their son's birth, and the Labour leader announced he would be taking his two weeks' statutory paternity leave. The issue of Ed's family life was sensitive territory. He had already faced criticisms for failing to turn up with Justine for the registration of their first child's birth. This, combined with coverage over the ownership of his house being in Justine's name only led to claims about his lack of organisation and even allegations of commitment-phobia-and, of course, they were not yet married. On the birth certificate claim, Ed has said: **"It was a mess up on our part. No-it was a mess up on my part."**_ _ And he said of his latest child's birth: **"I will be going down to the Register Office straight away this time."**_ _ Ed has admitted that he was **"embarrassed"**_ _ that his name wasn't on Daniel's birth certificate.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_The story of the next few months will not be just the battle for Number 10 but the undercover leadership scrap between the troika fighting to replace David Cameron. Labour leadership hopefuls are at it too. I heard the other day that Andy Burnham and Yvette Cooper spent most of the recent parliamentary Labour party Christmas do standing at the bar buying drinks for all corners.-"Sunday 21st December 2014" Election Notebook: The Inside Story Of The Battle Over Britain's Future And My Personal Battle To Report It, Nick Robinson_

_Yet in the middle of these (coalition negotiation) talks, Ed Miliband asked one of Brown's advisers, Greg Beales, for a private word. The two walked through to the adjoining Number 11, home of the Chancellor. Ed proposed they get a cup of tea, and they sat down opposite one another in Alistair Darling's empty study. **"It doesn't appear that this is going to be successful"**_ _ Ed said. Taken aback, Beales protested that things were surely looking up for a Labour-Lib Dem alliance. Ed then dropped a bombshell. **"I know, I know. But it doesn't look like it's going to be successful. And if it's not successful I'm going to run for the leadership of the party and I'd like you to be involved."**_ _ In the months leading up to the general election, Beales had hinted to Ed that he, rather than David, was best placed to lead the party after Brown and make the much-needed break from New Labour. But until now Ed had refused to respond, out of loyalty to the Prime Minister. Beales, perhaps aware that this was a watershed moment, pressed Ed on why he had decided to stand to lead the party. **"I have to run in this race. David will be a good leader, and the others will be good leaders, but I am the only person who can decisively move the Labour Party on from the Blair-Brown era."**_ _ Ed added that Beales, were he to lend his support, would **"make a difference." **_ _The latter pledged his allegiance to the younger Miliband on the spot...Polly Billington and Stewart Wood aside, Greg Beales was the first to come on board Ed's ship, joining the campaign as head of policy. Beales, a former special adviser to Blair and Brown, considered to be a dyed-in-the-wool Blairite for his championing of foundation hospitals, was a shrewd appointment by a candidate worried about being defined by his opponents as a left-wing Brownite.-Ed: The Milibands And The Making Of A Labour Leader, James Macintyre and Mehdi Hasan_

_Rather than releasing the tension (of the leadership contest), however, the announcement of a winner only seemed to add to it. Ed's team-backroom "boys" such as Polly Billington, Greg Beales, Katie Myler, Stewart Wood, Lucy Powell, Anna Yearley, Marcus Roberts, James Morris, and Alex Smith-were ecstatic, but also anxious.-Five Year Mission: The Labour Party Under Ed Miliband, Tim Bale_

_He (David Cameron) showed artistic leanings in his early years at Eton and spent a good deal of time at the Art Schools..Camero_ _n had some etchings displayed at the school's open day, the Fourth of June. He dabbled a bit in painting and allowed his foot to be made into a plaster cast, for the art show of his talented sculptor friend Crispin Gibbs (with the toe as a spout) but-while studying for around five hours a week-principally enjoyed the relaxed ambience of creativity and exchange of ideas that Booth (the teacher) encouraged. **"It was a really nice community of people, slightly apart from the school"** remembers Booth, who inspired a marked increase in the number of boys taking O-Level Art.-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott and James Hanning_

_Just six weeks before the exams Cameron came close to being expelled before he could even take them. Towards the end of May a number of pupils were found to be both using and distributing cannabis. The affair made the national newspapers, in part, because, unusually, the police were involved. Eton generally told the local drugs squad of any illegality the school had uncovered and the drugs squad in turn was content to leave the school to sort it out. On this occasion the police oversaw an investigation by the school, apparently determined, at least at first, to root out all drug-users. The initial culprits were called upon to reveal to whom they had sold drugs, an offence that ensured automatic expulsion. On the first day seven were summarily thrown out and the investigation began to snowball. "**They called in more the next day and the day after, but after that everyone just clammed up"** says one former pupil who left that term. **"A couple of the guys were going to Slough to buy the stuff, but it wasn't as if there was real dealing going on in the school."** He added: **"We were heavily leaned on to give names. There were a lot of people involved. They tried to accuse me of dealing in it, which was nonsense. I told the headmaster, "If you kick me out, you'll have to kick an awful lot of people out." I didn't like the way it was handled. We weren't told our rights or anything, and apart from a few confessions from people, they had very little evidence." ** A senior member of staff at the time admits that a **"nice teacher, nasty teacher"** technique was used, and says: "**I have no doubt that we wouldn't be allowed to handle it in the same way nowadays-we would be involved with human rights legislation and so on." E**stimates vary of how many were questioned, but the school was anxious to send a strong signal, including to those on the fringes who had experimented but otherwise knew little of the drugs world. The school authorities, evidently, were taken aback by what they found. **"They realised the numbers were much greater than they thought"** claimed one former pupil. "**They couldn't rusticate (temporarily expel) everybody."** While, in theory at least, the "hard nuts" were thrown out, others received milder punishments._

_JF (House) was on the edge of Eton, with views out over the countryside and towards the railway arches, both domains offering handy cover for illicit smoking and drinking. From the house, it was possible on occasion to witness the surreal scene of groups of two or three teenagers in tailcoats, trudging back towards the school, their purported interest in the botany of east Berkshire temporarily sated. Cameron's house was a stone's throw from the Arts Schools and the drugs purge took a disproportionate toll on those who attended them...In the inquisition of May 1982, an acquaintance of David Cameron named him as having smoked cannabis. He was called before the headmaster and confessed. Because he had only smoked and not sold the drugs he was not thrown out. Instead, he was fined, gated (refused all leave) and given a Georgic (a classic Eton punishment requiring the offender to copy out 500 lines of Latin.) To acute personal embarrassment, he was barred from attending the Fourth of June celebrations. He was also invited to reveal the names of other boys involved but did not do so. Eric Andersen (now Sir Eric, and provost of Eton), who did not become one of Eton's most popular former headmasters by smallmindedly remembering every misdemeanour he has been called upon to punish, says he does not recall Cameron's involvement, but makes a general point. **"There are those who get in on the fringes. It is a matter of excitement and experimentation. We would have said "Let's get the ringleaders" and if there were others involved, we would have scared them off from doing it again. We're dealing with young boys, and young boys sometimes do silly things. But I would very much resist the idea that we "put the lid on" anything."..**Typically, he (Cameron) did not allow the drugs episode to get him down.-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott & James Hanning_

_More serious offences could mean immediate ejection from the school. Cameron's year group had the ignominious distinction of a record number of expulsions-a fate the Prime Minister himself narrowly escaped after he was "busted" for taking cannabis. The episode, which took place just a few weeks before he was due to sit his O-levels, was sufficiently serious for police to be called in. Seven boys were thrown out of the school on the day the scandal broke, and the investigation snowballed, with many others, Cameron included, hauled before teachers. The affair exposed a significantly more widespread drug problem than the school authorities had anticipated. When it came to light after Cameron's rise to the Conservative Party leadership, it prompted a media furore, but friends say he was only a bit player. **"I always thought he was an unwilling participant" s**ays James Deen. **"He was very like me in that I never did anything wrong in five years. All his friends were quite naughty, drank, smoked...probably did things they didn't have a fucking clue about. But he was quite goody-goody. There were some "characters" in his House, and willing or not, he became part of it. It's a very typical thing at Eton, that if someone is caught doing something, unfortunately everybody in that year and that House suffers because of it."**_

_Among those expelled was Max Wigram (who now runs an art gallery on New Bond Street in London) who seems to have been a dazzling figure at Eton. His sudden departure was a shock to pupils. **"He was a very intelligent non-conformist-fifteen going on twenty-five. He was hanging out with supermodels at the age of fourteen, when the rest of us didn't even know what a pigtail was"** recalls Deen._

_Looking back, Berthoud dismisses the drugs scandal as **"all just bravado, the equivalent of sneaking behind the bike sheds for a fag...I remember the expulsions thing as being "Oh my God, wow." They were the subversive heroes, in as much as Eton had a counterculture. Max was a bit of a sporting hero, immensely good-looking and charismatic, and rebellious towards the teachers, and then he was expelled. I remember I was very shocked by that. I thought in a way that we were all untouchable."****-**Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_In my political career I answered questions about drug use in my earlier life by saying **"Everyone is entitled to a private past"** and leaving it at that. But what happened did have a material effect on my career: not so much later, but when I was sixteen. A few friends had started getting hold of cannabis. In those days it was mostly in the form of hash, typically dark brown and crumbly, although occasionally some "Red Leb", supposedly from the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon, would show up. Instead of popping behind the school theatre for a fag, we started going for a joint. In my case-comically, as I now look back on it-three of us used to hire one of the school's double scull rowing boats and head off to a small island in the middle of the Thames called Queen's Eyot. Being quite small back then, I was the cox. Once there, we would roll up and spend a summer's afternoon gently off our heads._

_This all came crashing down when the **"ringleaders"** and so-called **"dealers"**-the boys who had brought the drugs into the school-were caught and expelled. My two rowing friends were the first out of the door. I am not naming them now, not least because they've endured repeated approaches and entreaties from journalists to spill the beans on me. They never have. I was one of the last to be rounded up. Boy after boy had been interrogated. It was getting close to half-term. As a minor offender, maybe I had got away with it? Not a bit of it._

_I can still remember where I was sitting-in Jo Bradley's maths class-when the door opened and I was summoned to see my housemaster, John Faulkner, in the middle of the day. This was without doubt the worst moment of my life so far. The housemaster gave me no chance for weak excuses: **"It's no use denying it, David, we have signed confessions from others, and we know about at least one occasion when you took drugs."** The next stage was going to see the headmaster, Eric Anderson. Eric is a wonderful man who has the probably unique distinction of having taught two prime ministers-Tony Blair at Fettes and me at Eton-and an heir to the throne-Prince Charles at Gordonstoun. He now lives in my old constituency, and we sometimes bump into each other in Chipping Norton or in his village of Kingham, where he lives opposite a pub I am particularly fond of._

_The strange thing about that interview was that he seemed more nervous than me. I think he found the whole episode shocking, and he was clearly still coming to terms with the words for various drug paraphernalia. Because I was so keen not to implicate anyone else, I claimed-totally falsely-that I had only smoked cannabis once at Eton, and all the other times were "**at home in the village."** This involved me telling a more and more elaborate set of lies. I am not sure he believed a word I said, but my abiding memory is the moment he asked, **"Yes, Cameron, but who rolled the joint?"**_

_The short-term consequences of my crime were tiresome, but I was so relieved at not being expelled that I would have been happy to accept any punishment. In the event I was "gated" (restricted to within the school grounds), fined £20 for the smoking element, and made to write out one of Virgil's Georgics on the morning of the school's open day, 4 June. This involved copying out line after line of-as far as I was concerned-untranslatable Latin verse. The real punishment was telling my parents. During the course of the 4 June celebrations, which I joined late after having completed my Georgic, Mum could hardly look at me, while Dad simply said, in a rather British way, that it would not be mentioned that day, but he would have a serious talk to me in the morning. When morning came he was nursing a hangover, and made rather a mess of it all._

_The long-term consequences of my drugs bust, however, were wholly beneficial. This was the shock I needed. First, I knew that one more misdemeanour would mean curtains for my time at Eton. Next, I realised that I needed to stop moping about lagging behind my brother and make my own way. Crucially, instead of drifting academically, I needed to make a greater effort. It was time to pull my finger out. -For The Record, David Cameron_

_Soon we had the good news that the Queen's eldest grandson, Prince William, was to marry his long-time girlfriend Catherine Middleton. I had already got to know William and Kate quite well. They were a warm, charming couple, who genuinely loved each other and wanted to build a life together. I was thrilled for them. The prime minister has an odd role in such national events. You're not directly responsible for running things-but if things go wrong, it's your fault. I got stuck in, overseeing everything from street parties (slapping down spoilsport councils that tried to stop the parties by preventing road closures) to security (chairing COBR meetings to make sure enough police would be on the streets.)_

_Friday, 29 April 2011 was another hot and dry day-and we had made it a national holiday, just as William's parents' wedding had been thirty years before. Samantha looked stunning in a turquoise dress, and our car to Westminster Abbey followed the Household Cavalry along the gravel-covered Horse Guards Parade in a cloud of dust, their metal breastplates glinting in the morning sunshine. We watched the ceremony from the quire stalls alongside Ed Miliband, Nick and Miriam. It was magical. The princes in their military uniforms. The twenty-foot trees lining the aisle. The feeling that you were watching something that could have happened in any one of the last ten centuries, and wouldn't have looked that different. _

_On that day, the country-indeed the world-came together. The thousands of street parties, the million people lining the route, the near-billion viewers watching the vows, the flypast and the kiss on the balcony on their TV screens. Our own street party outside Nos 10 and 11, which included local schoolchildren and residents of local care homes, is a particularly happy memory. The palace, where we went after the ceremony, was familiar territory to me.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_Cameron's choice of bride is fascinating, not least because their personalities are so different. On the face of it, she is highly improbable material for the spouse of a Tory politician. She sports a tattoo on her ankle, used to be a **"Goth",** and likes to holiday in Ibiza for the sunshine and clubbing scene. Her extended family is full of colourful and racy characters, from her father, a traditional Tory toff, to her exotic cross-dressing half-brother Robert, who works at the auctioneer Christie's-not to mention various relatives with a druggie past. (Her sister Emily was kicked out of school after cannabis was found in her dormitory during a police raid.) As an art student she could be found hanging out playing snooker with a thief and alleged small-time drug dealer in downtrodden pubs, and had no interest in politics. All that was long ago, but she never entirely shook off her rebellious streak. This was never more apparent than when, aged forty-three, she became the first prime ministerial spouse in history to stage an event that could credibly be described as a **"rave"** at Chequers, hiring a Radio 1 DJ known as **"Sarah HB "** (for "**Hard Bitch"**) to spin discs. These days, she shares food, fashion and travel tips on Pinterest and uses a smartphone app called Shazam to identify obscure dance tracks, while her radio station of choice remains the indie rock outlet 6 Music._

_All of this makes her a most unlikely fit with the uber-conventional son of a Home Counties stockbroker and a magistrate, yet the relationship more than works. One very close personal friend describes the marriage as **"the strongest"** she knows. It has survived not only the intense pressure of what Cherie Blair called **"life in the goldfish bowl" i**n Downing Street but the appalling tragedy of the death of a child...As for Cameron, he says openly that Samantha is far and away the best thing that has happened to him and that his family is **"the most important thing"** in his life. Even those with little else good to say about the Prime Minister did not question his commitment to her or the children.-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_Some of his (David's) friends thought her a little too far removed from the mould of his usual girlfriends to be a long-term proposition, but he had seen something in his sister Clare's best friend. Samantha was the woman for him. She was quite shy of her friend's brother, fully five years older than her. Neither had shown much interest in the other beyond mere courtesies in the past. Samantha Sheffield and Clare Cameron had known each other for years, but had not become close until their teens. They shared a mischievous sense of humour and a teenage taste for adventure. Samantha, in particular, seems to have gone to some lengths to avoid being typecast by her background. While socially smart, it was also fairly racy....Samantha Sheffield went to the Manor School and then, at eleven, to St Helen's (now St Helen and St Katharine's) both in Abingdon, near Oxford. She continued to see a certain amount of her friend Clare Cameron, who was at St Mary's, Calne...On one occasion Clare held a party at home in Peasemore. It was then, according to David Cameron's recollection at any rate, that the couple first met. Recalling it later, in Samantha's company, Cameron was heard to say, "**You were a sulky sixteen-year-old who thought "Who's this crashing bore who is your friend's older brother?""** Evidently the encounter left little mark on the **"sulky sixteen-year-old."** When asked later when they had first met, she said she had "**probably"** met him when she was at primary school, but had no clear recollection of him. It is her belief that they didn't meet until she was eighteen..It was not long into the holiday before Cameron had set his sights on Samantha Sheffield. Clare Cameron is outgoing, and her brother had always been intrigued by her amusing but cool and reserved friend, the **"straight man"** to his effusive sister. Five years older than Samantha, he was determined to make her laugh, conscious that to the twenty-one-year-old he might have seemed **"a serious, scary, slightly earnest older bloke",** as a friend put it. **"When he's relaxed, Dave can be very, very funny"** he added...Back in London, they went on their first date at Kensington Place restaurant before the art student headed back to her earthier existence at Bristol. Sometimes she would come for weekends in London, at other times he would go down to her flat in one of the rougher parts of Bristol. If she had difficulty with this bifurcated lifestyle, he must have found it even harder, not least when having to jam coins into the student digs payphone when speaking to the Chancellor.-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott and James Hanning_

_Something else happened while I was a special adviser: properly meeting the love of my life-and my wife for the past twenty-three years-Samantha. I say "properly" because Samantha was a friend of my younger sister Clare and we first met when she was just seventeen. I remember being struck by this laid-back, almost silent, waif-like thing lying on my parents' sofa, smoking rolled-up cigarettes and sniggering gently as my sister took the piss out of me._

_We met properly on a holiday organised by my father four years later. Dad, who was always incredibly generous, decided to celebrate his and Mum's thirtieth wedding anniversary by inviting some of his best friends to a hotel in southern Italy, and he allowed each of us children to invite three friends along. Samantha was invited by Clare, who warned her in advance, "**Watch out-I think my brother fancies you."**_

_I did. And it was a blissful week.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_David will work in the den (at Chequers) off and on throughout the weekends-near enough to his family so they don't notice how often he pops out to take a call or read a newly sent memo. Chequers works because it allows a prime minister to work and relax in an atmosphere of privacy. David already looks very much at home here. But he is clear with his family right from the start; this is not our home; home is in Dean. The Camerons start to run the house in an informal, family style. I suspect that shepherd's pie for Saturday lunch is not what the cook has in mind. Unused fireplaces are opened and swept; fires are lit. David sets up a sound system in the great hall. Over time, the place begins to feel less like a government guest house and more like a family home...The fact that his family is in residence, rather than him having to travel home to west London to see them, grounds David and helps to keep him sane. David has a ferocious work ethic, but part of what keeps him balanced, and able to make good decisions, is his ability to switch off. He will go for a run or spend time with the children. At Chequers, he often plays tennis-with a friend, if one is around (they are supposed to lose graciously) or if not, with his ball machine, nicknamed (by the press, originally) **"the Clegger." T**here is the possibility of a swim in the indoor pool-a gift from President Nixon. I don't love swimming, I say on one occasion, when Nancy is trying to persuade me into the water. **"Mum got over that stage a while ago"** she says critically. I say I don't have my swimsuit and she points to a rather tired-looking one-piece hanging in the changing rooms. "You can use that one-it was left here."...We all laugh to hear that one weekend at Chequers, one of the Gove children, followed by a confused Cameron child, runs into breakfast saying, isn't it true this house will be ours when Dad's prime minister?-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No.10, Kate Fall_

_Weekends are sacrosanct. Early on in the premiership, the family regularly go to Chequers. They value the help that the Chequers staff give with baby Florence and the other children. But the seclusion of their home in Dean, near Chipping Norton in the Cotswolds, proves increasingly alluring and homely. They are happiest when having friends to dinner on Saturday evening or to lunch on Sunday, after a long walk in the morning. On Sunday evenings, they arrive back at Downing Street by about 7.00 or 7.30 in time to put the children to bed. He will always talk to George Osborne and often to Nick Clegg on Sunday evenings, either in person, or by phone from the car.-Cameron At 10: The Inside Story: 2010-2015, Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon,_

_Visitors say Cameron is far from blase about Chequers. He would encourage visiting children to pose for pictures with him, explaining that his tenure there may not be long-lived and they might not get another opportunity. It's an assertion endorsed by daughter Nancy, who has a tendency to tell guests disarmingly: **"Daddy says we're to enjoy it here, as we won't be here for long." C**ertainly he shows no signs of suppressing his appetite for life while in residence, listening unaffectedly to pop music and firing up the karaoke machine, a Christmas present from friends the first Christmas after he moved into Downing Street. (One member of staff, hearing the Prime Minister unleash himself on a well-known ballad, was heard to whisper **"Let's hope he doesn't give up the day job.")**-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott and James Hanning_

_Chequers is a sixteenth-century manor house near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire that was gifted to the office of prime minister in the 1920s. Its owners, Tory MP Arthur Lee and his American wife Ruth, had been worried that future prime ministers would neither have the money, the time nor the inclination to appreciate country life. So they gave them the ideal country house in which to work and relax. There are ten guest bedrooms. More than a thousand acres of land. An indoor pool. Tennis court. Two chefs. Plentiful staff. How can that possibly be justified? All I can say is that it makes the job more do-able, and frees the PM from the day-to-day fray so he or she can think and plan. The family and I would spend one weekend out of four here, and the rest at Dean...At Chequers Florence's cot was in the room next to where Lady Mary Grey, sister to **"the Nine Days Queen",** was imprisoned on the floor above our bedrooms. Nancy would give guided tours and proclaim, **"We won't be living here for long-it's only while Dad's prime minister."** She'd go into the house's history, talking about some of the figures who had a connection with it, like "**Oliver Crumble."****-**For The Record, David Cameron_

* * *

_"It was socialism powered by capitalism. It was a strange, competitive, cerebral and privileged environment. And they were in it together.-Still Alice, Lisa Genova_

_"Because it's actually not awful or anything, walking with him."-I'll Give You The Sun, Jandy Nelson_

_"I took a break to lie on the couch, staring at the white ceiling as E. and Lula talked. A familiar feeling washed over me; I was the odd one out."-Britney Franco, Dear Diary Entry, Rookie Magazine_

_That's where our similarities ended. We were from completely different sides of the country; he didn't really like academia and had left school at 18 to become a chef; he was a big risk-taker and had dabbled with drugs and alcohol. I was a complete goody-two-shoes who always played by the rules and was very much into my studies. We didn't have any common interests to talk about-we liked different music, different movies, and didn't align that closely politically. But by the end of the 10-week project we'd become two peas in a pod. None of the surface-level similarities were there, yet somehow, slowly we clicked. Shared experience can strengthen bonds between people, but more than that, spending time together gave us time to discover that we actually had many of the same core values, what differed was the way we channelled them into our actions and interests.-"Something Uncommon", Micha Frasier-Carroll, Rookie Magazine_

* * *

"And if you make a mess, then David will clean it up for you. As he does most other things."

There's an outbreak of laughter and David grins at her, while George digs him in the ribs. "Our wives enjoy shaming us. I've a mind to complain" he says with a grin, as the crowd heads for the buffet table, the children's hair still damp, sticking wetly to their heads-David can see the translucent drops on Nancy's dress where she's obviously pulled it on too hastily after the pool.

"George" David says, with a pat to the elbow. "Your wife found it amusing when Natalie Rowe's name was all over the headlines. If anyone should have the right to complain about their marriage-" He yanks a napkin off the table and smacks George affectionately with it. "It is not you."

"Or you, sweetheart." Samantha's voice tickles his ear and she gives him a squeeze and a wink. "So, watch yourself."

Sarah, who has accompanied her to the table, gives them both a rather more ominous grin. "Sam's kinder than I would be."

George waits until the two women are occupied with collecting their food and then mutters "How do they do that?"

David shrugs. "God knows. But if it's possible to have an influence this young, I'm really regretting making Sarah Florence's godmother."

* * *

David's examining one of the goat cheese tarts when the voice brushes his neck. "Please don't turn this into a repeat of your seventh birthday, Dave."

David takes a moment before he turns round to meet Alex's eyes, taking in his elder brother's small grin-one that could appear polished to those who didn't know him well.

"You're amusing" David says drily, offering his brother the plate. Alex takes one with a grin.

"So was that." Alex takes a bite of the tart. "I never knew projectile vomit was a literal term until then."

David wrinkles his nose. "We're_ eating_, Alex."

"Dreadfully sorry for that lack of diplomacy" Alex remarks, taking an unperturbed bite of tart. "Maybe that's why I'm not Prime Minister."

He gives David a wink. David waits for a moment and then smiles back.

Alex cuffs his shoulder gently. "Tania will be over in a moment" he grins, as the two of them turn to look out over the room. "To let you know just how badly she thinks you're royally fucking the country up." He gives David another grin. "Though no doubt you've got your best friend to help you out there."

David doesn't jump but his arm leaps a little before he can stop it, knocking Alex's arm slightly. Alex's eyes narrow, sharpened steel that flashes the same way it had when David had been one of the only boys in his year group not thrown out when they'd been caught and Alex (who'd probably never touched anything stronger than wine in his life) had been watching him with his head tilted to the side, as though he'd wanted to ask David something. Whatever it was, it had never been asked.

Now, the silence stretches a second more, and then David laughs, and the sound's a little stretched too. "I think that might be a little awkward" he manages, grabbing a tart himself a little too quickly. "Given this is one of the places Miliband is hoping to get his hands on-"

Alex's eyes flash to his again, but this time there's something else there, something like amusement. "I-ah-didn't mean Miliband" he says, a small grin pushing into the corners of his mouth. "I was talking about Nick."

David feels himself falter for the slightest breath and he has to remind himself it's a simple mistake to make. (And he shouldn't really have to remind himself.)

"Oh" he manages. "Well. I suppose I'm fortunate enough to have both-"

Alex casts him another, smaller smile this time. "Both?"

David feels the colour creep to his cheeks and takes a bite of the tart that he doesn't taste. "No doubt you've heard all about how Miliband and I are supposedly the best of friends."

Alex laughs a little too shortly. "You've always been rather good at that."

"At what?"

Alex takes a sip of wine and when he meets David's eyes again, his eyes sparkle a little. "Making best friends." He almost winks. "Even ones you can't keep."

"This from the ruthless barrister?"

"Your term. Not mine." Alex smiles and swallows another mouthful of wine. "It's a compliment, you know."

"Being ruthless?" David clinks his own glass to his brother's. "Or making friends you can't keep?"

Alex laughs and David says, before the sound can die away, "Sam wanted it to be just close friends tonight."

Alex doesn't pretend to misunderstand him. Instead, he says with an arched brow "And Nick isn't one of them?"

The thoughts flash over David's eyes for a moment; the first time Nick was here, the way George-this had been before the time Nick confessed his fears about George's regards-had given Nick a rare smile as David had reassured them that this wine was not supplied from the taxpayers' money, and the way Nick had laughed, with some remark about "Makes a change" and a wink as he took a sip of wine, wedding ring clinking against the glass. He sees Nick's face the previous week, eyes narrowed, face wrought.

David looks back at his brother, gaze sharp, waiting, eyes as bright as the glasses.

David smiles, the way he knows how to. "Like you said" he says to his brother, smile never wavering the whole time. "Making friends you can't keep."

And for some reason, Nick's isn't the only face that comes to mind.

Alex smiles at him before David can hold onto whatever Miliband's remark would be in his mind. "Both" he says quietly, just for the two of them, and for some reason, David tenses. "What?"

Alex meets his gaze. "Both attributes" he says, with a small smile. "Are a compliment for you."

He smiles at David and David returns the smile a second too long, these two compliments they take for their own fizzing in the air between them. Their gazes hold a flash of steel there between them, and then they clink their glasses together-the sound a little too sharp there between them, over the festive clamour all around.

* * *

"And if you don't get back next year" Emily says, with a grin at her sister. "Just think, that might have been the last time I got into a fight with a Chequers security guard."

Sam rolls her eyes. "I think that might be small comfort for Dave." She gives Frances a grin. "Though maybe not for George."

Frances snorts. "Am I obligated to pour-" She indicates her glass of wine with a jerk of the head. "This over something? Fulfil a headline-"

"Sarah would probably take care of that for everyone." Sam takes a sip of her own wine and scans the room for her friend. "If she isn't already hitting some journalist who's sneaked in."

"Don't let Sarah hear you." Sam turns with a grin to see Michael standing behind her, holding his own glass of wine. "She'll think it's a good idea."

"Though Sarah _is_ a journalist" Sam points out.

"A columnist" says Frances, clinking their glasses together cheerily. "We writers take the distinction seriously, you know."

"Don't bring that up either" Michael assures them. "She'll think elaborating on that is a good idea, too."

Sam gives him a grin. "Dave's over there" she says, indicating where David's standing with his brother. "And George was-"

"Probably quoting from the Telegraph" Frances chips in.

Michael tilts his head. "He could do worse. The Telegraph could-"

Sam claps Michael on the arm, the way she's learnt to over the years. "It's Christmas. Leave the politics."

Michael gives her the Michael-grin-small and serious. "Sometimes, it feels like we've been saying that for five years."

Looking at Michael, Sam feels a rush of affection. She pats his arm and a part of her remembers-with a surprising rush of gratitude-that whatever happens in five months, Michael and Sarah will still be here. They'll have to be here.

Michael gives her a small, startled smile, the way he often does at any sign of physical affection. "So where_ is_ Nick tonight?" he asks, and Sam frowns with a glance at the others. "He couldn't come, Dave said-something about them having a night with the kids." She pushes her hair back, glances upstairs to where her own children are asleep or running riot and Sam would guess the latter.

Michael nods, but he casts Sam a curious look and Sam wonders for a moment at how much stranger it will be for them in May-for David and George and Michael-than it will be for any of the rest of them.

Sam wonders if sometimes it's all too easy for her to forget that, as the disco lights start to dance across the floor.

* * *

Nick doesn't know if he's happy he's in front of the TV or not. Which, in itself, should worry him more than it does.

Miriam's typing up a blog entry. Antonio's upstairs on his ipad. Alberto and Miguel are likely asleep, or at least are supposed to be. If Nick doesn't check, they can all pretend they are.

He doesn't look up but he can feel Miriam watching him, every few moments another glance up from under her eyelids. Nick keeps his gaze trained on the TV he isn't watching, but he can feel Miriam's eyes, even when neither of them is looking at the other.

He knows that Miriam won't ask him-she never has and never does. Instead, Nick always knows that she's watching and not asking and eventually that can open his mouth, more than a hundred other questions would.

He waits and then says without looking at Miriam "Maybe we'll be going next year."

Miriam laughs, tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Do you want to?" she asks, her dark eyes glinting, and Nick laughs and turns back to the screen, but his mind grabs onto the picture of David's voice-not last week, but one of the several times over the years-

_We never promise you anything like that-_

_For God's sake, David, what do you want? A bloody piece of paper with it scribbled on-_

He hadn't said what he wanted to say, this time. He'd known that the moment he'd stepped out of the room and that's a feeling he's had over and over again the last five years of this coalition.

He squeezes his eyes shut, as has become his habit when he has thoughts like these. They've done good work, he reminds himself, together in this coalition of theirs'. It's just that-

Maybe it's a self-preservation thing, Nick thinks suddenly, staring at the light washing over the carpet from the TV screen. Maybe it's a way of pushing the memories out before he has to have them _dragged-_

He stops himself short, reminding him of what Paddy had said in their last call. _There's no chance Cameron's getting a majority. And who's his natural ally now?_

_He'll be coming to you_, Paddy had said, sounding a lot more confident than Nick had felt, then or now.

_They both will. You just need to keep the message going until then._

Something about that still niggles in Nick's thoughts now.

But he holds onto them stubbornly because everything points to Paddy's being right. The facts, the figures, the polls. Everything. All Nick has to do is wait for David to call.

It's just that-

Nick has never felt like the type of person who-

He takes a few moments before he says, without looking at Miriam, "We might grace him with our presence next year."

Miriam laughs again and Nick manages to summon up enough mischief to turn around and give her a grin. "You could always bring along one of those cakes packed with sugar-"

This earns him a cushion over the head and a lecture from Miriam on the dangers of junk food and Nick listens a little too hard, careful to let the words be louder than the thoughts in his head.

* * *

"My dad is far worse" Bea tells her, _Grenade_ making the floor shake a little, so that Nancy can feel the vibrations travelling up the mattress through her cheek. "Your dad doesn't put his head round the door while you're trying to do homework-" She springs upright, swimming costume donned once again. Flo's downstairs in her little costume already, weaving between the dancers,balanced on Mum's hip in her armbands, Mum's hair shining in the multi-coloured disco lights making the great hall sway and shimmer.

"Actually-" Libbie's head pops up from behind the bed, hair a dark, messy curtain that falls over her face out of the handstand she's just used to throw herself upright, doing a little star jump in her bikini. "At least your dads don't go on about you learning Mandarin."

Nancy swings herself off the bed, the three girls' arms tangling together as they head for the door before. It's pitch-black outside and Nancy knows it's past midnight, but it's a party, and even Flo's still up, and the boys are down in the pool.

You're lucky" Bea announces, as the three little girls make their way down the great staircase in their costumes, too young to realise what an incongruous sight they must be. "You're not at Grey Coat yet."

Nancy shrugs, as they head down the corridors they used to tell each other were haunted when they were little (Nancy enjoyed reminding Will of that when he asked if they'd get to live in Chequers if _their_ dad became Prime Minister), aiming for the great hall, and then, as they poke their heads round the door frame, almost rears back at the sheer wall of noise. The DJ's shouting something but Nancy can barely hear her over the rave music.

"No." Bea's backing away. "No. Dad's dancing." Liberty breaks into snorts of laughter at the sight of Uncle Michael, glasses slipping down his nose, spinning Auntie Sarah round, and so does Nancy.

"His glasses are coming off" Bea announces, as if they can't see for themselves. "It's _never _good when their glasses come off." She shoves Nancy gently in the side. "Have you seen yours'?"

Nancy's laughter dies away into a groan of horror at the sight of Mum and Dad in the centre of the dance floor. Far, far worse is the fact Dad's spinning Mum round, while Auntie Helena leads a crowd who seem to be urging them on. Nancy stares at the horror before her in silence-though, luckily for her, it's hard to see through the sheer amount of bodies, even in a room as big as this.

"How's your mum having a 40th birthday, anyway?" Bea asks, folding her arms as she leans against the door frame. "Isn't she, like, older?"

"Don't know." Nancy chews her lip. "She was meant to be 40, like, three years ago. But they didn't have a party or something, because of the Royal Wedding." Nancy, at almost eleven, has been made aware plenty of times how fortunate she was she got to attend the event of a lifetime, but can't help but think-an opinion she'll hold into her adult life-that it was rather wasted, given she remembers it-up until they got out of the church and could go back for the street party-one of the most utterly boring days of her life. (Elwen had fallen asleep across Gita's lap right as the vows were being exchanged, which meant Nancy hadn't glimpsed the part of the rings being slid onto each other's fingers as right at that moment, there was a gentle thud, a squawk from Gita, and she'd looked down to see her brother had managed to roll off Gita's knee and onto the floor.) 

Dad starts swivelling his hips. It's a horrible sight. Bea, apparently forgetting her own horror of just a few moments before, promptly laughs so hard she has to take a seat on the staircase to recover herself.

"Come on" Nancy says, the moment she's sure Bea will be able to breathe, and with some help from Liberty, she manages to manoeuvre her friend off to the swimming pool.

"You should have seen Dad when we went round Grey Coat." Nancy's not stupid. She knows Dad just wants to help-he always does. And that's just how he is, with everybody-all the people he works with, but it's not how he can be with her _friends_ (apart from Libbie and Bea, who are used to it, and anyway, their dads can be _worse.)_

"Mum didn't let Dad come" Bea informs her, skipping ahead as they scamper out onto the driveway, Nancy immediately hugging herself as the freezing night air assaults their arms. The boys' laughter echoes against the cold sky, a few stars scattered overhead, but a few of their parents' friends are there to nod at them as their little feet crunch over the gravelled driveway, clouds of cigarette smoke rising from their mouths as they lean against the wall, a couple of them ruffling the girls' hair as they head past. "Thank God. He'd have been awful. Plus, he'd probably get punched out by a teacher."

Libbie's laughing but Nancy feels her shoulders tense and she holds herself still the way she's been practicing.

Liberty gives her a curious look-just a quick glance shot out of the corner of her eye, but Nancy doesn't meet her gaze.

Bea nudges her and for a moment, Nancy opens her mouth. Sometimes, she thinks about asking them, her friends, but the words always swell in her throat, too big to fit out through her mouth.

She's not even sure what the words are and when she thinks about the way Dad ruffles her hair when she beats him in baking and the way he used to cuddle her, pressing kisses into her hair, while he read her Dr. Seuss-

She can't quite ask. She could ask Elwen but he can be a pain and Flo's too little to ask anything of, unless it's about Harry Potter or Frozen.

"Anyway-" Bea says, glancing over Nancy's shoulder at Libbie, as all three of the girls' shoulders slump as they reach the little outhouse that leads to the swimming pool. "I bet St. Paul's don't give you so much homework-"

Libbie snorts and for a few moments, her friends chatter over her shoulders. Nancy usually hates it and objects whenever they do that because Liberty and Bea are only a year older than her, which does not add _much _in terms of life experience (and anyway, neither of them are writing an _opera.)_

But tonight, she lets them chatter and concentrates on threading her fingers together and looking down in the way she had when Ed Miliband had asked her about it. She didn't know if he'd believed her or not. But Nancy's good at making people believe she's all right.

Sometimes, when she looks at the way her dad smiles and ruffles her hair and chucks Flo under the chin and wrestles with Elwen, when words from headlines jam in her head and some of the whispers that hold onto her dad's name tingle in her ears, she wonders if he is too. She wonders if that can be passed down, the way everyone tells her she looks just like Mum did when she was her age. Maybe everyone can do it, and that's just what growing up is.

But Nancy's still young enough to forget things for a while and so, as the three girls dart into the pool area, and are immediately set upon by Luke, with Flo and Nell riding on his shoulders, with Eliza screaming at him, her drenched hair telling the younger girls that she's already been caught more than once, she manages to lose any thoughts of her parents as she scampers away from him towards the deep end and jumps in, the heated pool a slap of welcome warmth and her head breaking the surface with a gasp, tilting back so that if she squints, she can see the faint glimmer of the stars through the glass roof.

* * *

"But honestly, Dave" Tania tells him, hanging off his arm. "You could just tell us your strategy and I could see to it that your new best friend is sufficiently briefed beforehand."

David laughs. "Maybe his brother isn't the only one who feels betrayed by his own blood."

He enjoys the smack on the arm he receives from Sam, the low whistle from George, and the far harder slap on the arm from Tania. "You're _awful_-no wonder you turned out a _Tory."_

"No wonder _you _turned out Labour-"

"That's a compliment-"

"That's a misinterpretation-"

"Oh, do shut up" mutters Clare, pushing her hair behind her ears. Both David and Tania turn to her at once and she shakes her head. "Don't even_ ask _me who I vote for."

Sam laughs and Frances gives George a grin. "I could have voted Labour, darling" she teases and George snorts. "You're welcome to it."

"So are you" Michael tells Sarah, which is a great mistake, as Sarah immediately swings round to face him, her eyes narrowing. "Darling, do you really imagine I'd have waited for your _permission?"_

Michael beams at her and then gives David and George one of his quick looks that lets David know there's a line coming. "Of course" he says, rather ostentatiously polishing his glasses. "Given Dave's going to the Labour Christmas party, perhaps it's his loyalties we should be concerned for."

Tania gives David another slap on the arm and George bursts out laughing. Samantha gives him a smack herself and David can laugh a little but he notices Michael's eyes flicker to him and then away again.

It's a few moments later when Sam and Sarah are chatting and Frances is laughing with Tania and Clare that David, George and Michael find themselves gathered together and it's then that Michael says "You know-doesn't the whole thing make it a little more awkward?"

David feels his brows knot but he keeps his voice level. "What whole thing? The Labour party? Their existence makes it more awkward, I've got to say-"

George sniggers and Michael gives them a smile-one of Michael's small smiles. "No" he says, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "No, just-" He cocks his head to the side. "I mean, you've got to remember what Miliband thinks, I suppose. He could-I mean, he wants to _win"_ he says and George has stopped too now, his eyes on David.

David glances between the two of them and he feels that idea, that confusion flicker, before he reins it back in, almost without thinking.

"Well, there are a lot of things Miliband wants that he won't _get."_ The words rise up a little sour in his mouth. "I mean, I should think he probably wants his brother to love him again, but he can't have _that."_

There's a moment's silence and then George bursts out laughing. Michael doesn't laugh but another small smile creeps out again-but his eyes flicker to David's and then away and that little glance prickles in David's mind, the same way his own words sting a little in his mouth, still ringing sour in the air.

* * *

Ed leans against the makeshift podium-actually the back of a chair-and swallows hard.

"Don't worry"" Stewart says with a grin. "It's just us."

Ed shoots him a grateful smile and that's when Alastair's voice slices between them. "OK, first cut right there."

He points at Ed. "Worry. These are when you _practice_ worrying. You are going to need to fucking _worry_ in the debates for real. Let me explain this to you-you are _rehearsing _that panic. This _is_ that panic. If this is _not _that panic, then when you_ feel_ that panic, you will fucking panic _more."_

"OK, Alastair-" Rachel places a hand on Alastair's arm. "I think it might be you who's in a fucking panic."

Alastair whirls round. "And you should be. In fact, you_ all_ should be panicking. I don't know if any of you fucking realise this but we are not exactly the fucking frontrunner here."

Ed blinks. Spencer bites his lip and avoids his eyes. Alastair, on the other hand, looks straight at him. "You want me to be honest with you?"

Ed hesitates.

"Because I want to let you know, I'm not going to do this fucking job unless I can be honest with you. Because if you aren't ready to listen-and not just to bloody Axelrod, either, when he deigns to drag his voice over from Stateside-then I'm going to fucking walk out that door." Alastair jerks his head towards the doorway. "Up to you."

Ed swallows hard. Tom's watching him closely. He can feel everyone else's gaze on him.

This is what he needs. He tugs at his tie and nods once.

Alastair stares at him for a long moment, then grins at him. "Good."

* * *

An hour later, Ed's standing still, leaning against the back of the chair, his head aching with arguments.

"The fact is, Nick" he says to Stewart, who looks nothing like Nick Clegg. "You broke your promises. You made a promise on the tuition fees and you _broke_ it-"

"I've said that" Stewart says, nodding in a remarkably Clegg-ish way. "I've accepted that and I've apologised-"

"Well, that's not going to be enough." Ed catches sight of Alastair nodding encouragingly. "That's not going to be enough for the thousands of students you let down. That's not going to be enough for the thousands of students whose futures you gambled with. And they'll _see_ that-they've _seen_ that and they won't trust you again."

He takes in a sharp breath and he hears the applause break out. He glances round, eyes shooting again to Alastair and he feels his heart quicken slightly when he sees Alastair grinning. He feels a small smile making its' way to his own mouth.

"Good." Alastair claps his hands. "That's good. Might be an idea to use that line against Cameron, though-have a bit more weight-" He claps Stewart on the shoulder and gives him a grin. "Good Clegg impersonation-thought he'd fucking snuck in myself for a minute." He snaps his fingers. "Which reminds me. Any thoughts on Scottish accents?"

Ed blinks. "Scottish-oh, Nicola Sturgeon? Head of the SNP?"

"Damn right Nicola Sturgeon, head of the SNP. Nicola Sturgeon who's just become head of the SNP and could bloody torpedo you." Off Ed's look, he nods. "Did you even pay attention to that referendum? There's a fucking surge of Scottish nationalism sweeping across the bloody map and if we're not careful, it'll be choking the sodding life out of the Labour party."

Ed stares at him and Alastair folds his arms. "Honestly" he says, as Stewart tilts his head, eyes now fixed on Alastair. "You need to have some fucking preparations in place for if she offers you a coalition."

Ed, who's just taken a gulp of water, promptly spits it out down his front. Alastair grimaces and hands him a tissue. Bob rolls his eyes and mutters something like "Glad the cameras didn't catch that one."

Ed ignores him, staring instead at Alastair. "You can't seriously-you can't honestly consider that Sturgeon would want to form a coalition with us?"

Alastair folds his arms and it's Torsten who says "Not with us-"

"With you" says Alastair bluntly and Ed stares at him. "With-"

"You know-" Tom folds his arms. "What they're saying about Sturgeon."

Ed shakes his head slowly.

"They're calling her the next Thatcher" Tom tells him. "Not the fucking ideology. The whole persona. And that is not bloody good for us."

"They're saying she's strong" Torsten says more quietly.

"And they're saying-" Alastair fixes his eyes on Ed's. "That you're weak."

Ed stands still, vaguely aware of his heartbeat, suddenly loud in his ears. Torsten's avoiding his eyes. Ed can feel the colour rising in his cheeks. His palms suddenly feel damp, and he pushes them together, swallows hard.

Alastair steps forward then, lowers his voice. "I said I'd be honest with you."

"I know." Ed's voice is tight, smaller than he'd like. He forces himself to meet Alastair's eyes. "I want you to be."

Alastair nods. "So we need to get to rehearsing against Sturgeon. As soon as possible-"

Ed nods. "We'll find somebody." He struggles to brighten his voice, to prove to Alastair that he can do this, that Alastair's time isn't being wasted-

Alastair nods. "Good. Might need to get someone in for Bennett, too." He claps his hands together, making Torsten jump. "Right. We don't know if Cameron's taking part yet-"

Ed frowns. "I think he will-I mean, it would look awful."

Alastair shakes his head. "Regardless, we'll rehearse both ways. Look, you and Cameron in PMQs does not look good-"

"I know-"

"For either of you" Alastair continues, as if Ed hasn't spoken. "But a little less for him-so now, we need to focus on that, work on it." He claps his hands. "So. Five minutes. Then time for the Cameron rehearsal."

Ed frowns. "Who's playing Cameron?"

Immediately, Tom smirks and Ed's gaze flickers to Alastair with a sinking certainty that he already knows the answer.

Alastair smiles. "Me."

* * *

As Alastair moves to stand next to him, Ed should probably be considering his arguments, but infuriatingly, his mind simply darts back to what had happened after they'd reached home the previous evening.

He hadn't been able to think of a great moment to tell Justine that he would be disappearing for the whole of Sunday-now, he has to reflect that there was probably never going to be a good moment to tell her that-and he'd ended up blurting it out with his back to her as she got into bed.

She'd remained quiet for a moment and then-"Wait, wait-why are you telling me this now?"

Ed had swallowed before he'd turned to look at her. "Alastair's idea. We need a rehearsal, especially if I'm going up against Cameron-"

"You do go up against him, every single week-"

"It's a completely different thing-"

"How is it a completely-"

"Because this is an entirely different context, it's on a wider range of issues, we have to rehearse-"

"I understand that, but I still don't see why it has to be on a Sunday morning-"

"Oh, for God's sake." The words had been ripped out, jagged with his own annoyance."This is something that needs to be done as soon as-"

Justine had pointed warningly at the door and Ed had forced his voice lower. "As soon as possible-"

"Why can't you just reschedule-"

Ed had laughed. It was, on reflection, probably a bad idea. "Just reschedule, do you know how busy _they_ are-how busy_ I_ am-"

"I'm perfectly capable of understanding how busy people are-" Justine's voice had lowered, calmer, firmer, the way Ed imagined she was in court. While the thought usually amused him, made him proud, now all he feels is annoyance, sharp and bitter in his throat.

"And that's why we have to arrange this for tomorrow-"

"The children wanted you to go to the park-" There's a bite in Justine's voice now, too. "They wanted to go to the park with you, they wanted you to-"

"Well then, why can't you take them-"

"Because I've got preparations to do, I've got to consult with the experts-this is one of the biggest cases I've done, for God's sake, Ed, I don't need to tell you that-"

"Right. So it's fair for you to leave them for work, but not me-"

"I _leave_ them?" Justine's eyes had been brighter now, her voice sharper. "I_ leave_ them, that's what you think I do-"

The words almost rear up in Ed's chest-_Well, you've said it before._

"I didn't mean it like that-" Ed's hand had dragged itself through his hair then. "I didn't, I didn't mean-I was trying to point out-it's not, you can't say your work has to come before mine, you can't just-"

"My work-you _knew_ this was my work-I've been upfront with you about the scheduling of _my_ work, you _knew_ this was pencilled in-"

_"I_ was upfront with-Alastair told me tonight and I told you after he told me-"

"You can't just expect me to drop this at the last minute, for pity's-"

"Of course I don't bloody expect you to-you expect me to drop_ my_ commitments, so don't play that card-"

"Play a-you think I'm _playing a card?"_

Ed had been ready to collapse then, to just throw his head down onto a pillow and forget the whole thing. "That's not-for God's sake, I just asked if you could take them to the park-"

Justine's head had fallen forward then, forehead resting on her hands. "Well, I can't take them-" She'd raised her hands, then let them fall. "I can't rearrange this now, it's just impossible-"

"And I can't rearrange mine now, so it looks like we've got a logjam."

Justine had lifted her head suddenly. "Well if you're going for this away day, what time will you be back?"

Ed had shrugged. "I've got abth-absolutely no idea, I don't even know where I'm bloody going-"

"You don't even _know-"_

_"No-"_ and it had burst out of Ed's mouth. _"No_, I _don't _know where I'm going, there's another bloody reason for you-"

"Well, who's going to look after them then?"

"I've got no-we'll have to call my mum or something, I don't bloody know-"

"Is she going to be free?"

"I've just said, I've just said, I've just told you I've got no bloody idea-"

Justine had sighed. "Well, we're going to have to try-or we could just get hold of Zia-"

"She's Monday to Friday, she's away, we can't ask her to come back-"

"Well, we're going to have to hope your mum's free, aren't we-"

"Why are-" Ed's struggling for the words, scrambling at the back of his throat. "Why am I getting the blame-"

"You're not getting the blame-"

"Why do I _feel _like I'm getting the blame-"

Justine had raised her hands. "I don't know why you feel like you're getting the blame. You're not getting the-don't do that-" as Ed had turned away, shaking his head at the impossibility of how irritating the situation looked-"Ed, that's just incredibly irritating-"

"Well, I'm _irritated." _Ed had heard the words explode out of his mouth and this time Justine's shushing had just served to make his voice even louder. "If this was you-" The words had fallen out unintentionally, as though they'd been thought many times before. "If you'd been told you had to go into work, you wouldn't have thought twice about it when-"

Justine had stared at him. "You know-" She'd pressed her head into her hands, as if she might find the answers hiding in the gaps between her fingers. "You know-we've always agreed we'd talk about it, that it was important if issues came up with careers, that it was important I had my own-"

Ed had suddenly found himself leaning against the wall. Quite suddenly, he'd just felt tired, the anger falling inside into a gnarling mess of knots, that had left him furious and exhausted at once, like an inarticulate, weeping toddler.

"I can't do this now" he'd said quietly and Justine had stopped talking, instead staring at him with a bemused, wondering look.

"Ed-" and then she'd stopped herself and begun again. "You know I don't-for God's sake, you know I don't always relish having to put it first-"

Not _having to._

"Before anything." The words had come out as though they'd been waiting to breathe.

Justine had stared at him. "What?"

He'd already been shaking his head. "It doesn't-"

He'd just turned to the door then, the room and the words and the argument all closing in on him until he hadn't wanted another breath of it.

"Ed-" Justine had called after him but he'd walked out of the room anyway and it hadn't been until he was lying in bed in the spare room that he-perhaps both of them-had accepted that Justine wasn't coming after him.

They still hadn't been speaking in the morning and it had been when Justine had bent to kiss Daniel's head that Ed had realised it wasn't just him who wasn't in the best of moods with his wife.

"Daniel-" Justine had bent down to give their son another kiss. "Are you going to say goodbye?"

Daniel had just stared at the TV screen, where the Octonauts were jabbering. Justine had bent down further, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Octonauts, Daniel?"

She'd pressed her mouth closer to his cheek and Daniel had made a small, angry noise, pulling his face away.

Justine had stopped and Daniel had kept his face turned away. "Daniel?" She'd tried to give him a squeeze and Daniel had made another, shorter noise and wriggled hard. When she'd tried to press her mouth to his cheek again, Daniel's arm had flailed, pushing at Justine's arm and then at her face, shoving her back.

_"Daniel-"_ Justine had caught at their son's wrists.

But Daniel's gaze had drifted past her and he'd pulled away, his eyes fixed on the TV screen.

Justine had glanced at Ed. Ed had looked away. There had been something prickling under his skin, a stab of something a little too close to vindication.

When Justine had reached for Sam, he'd just sat still, eyes on the screen and when his mother had said "Sam?" the little boy had simply stared straight ahead.

Justine had pressed a kiss into his hair with the words "Mummy'll see you later, all right?" Sam had stared past her at the screen and Justine had hovered for a moment, but when neither of her sons had looked at her, she'd moved to the door and when neither of them had turned, she'd slowly walked outside, leaving them behind.

Justine had stopped next to him in the hallway and while she hadn't quite met his eyes, she'd seemed to wait for him to say something.

He'd waited for himself to say something. Something about how young the boys are. Something about how they just don't understand yet. Something about how they'll appreciate it all one day.

He'd waited. He hadn't said anything.

Justine had opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I'll be home about seven."

Ed had nodded.

"I don't know" he'd said before she could ask. "It's Alastair running it-I've got no idea how long it will go on for."

And he'd almost been looking forward to it by that stage, just because arguing, practicing, going over the points he'll be making in a few months time, sounded better than standing there wondering what to say to Justine in a house that suddenly seemed too quiet with two little boys who'd rather stare at the TV screen than speak to either of their parents. Who it feels a little too like they're leaving behind.

But-they're not. They're not.

(But too often, it feels like-)

"Have a good day."

He'd managed to tell her that. Justine had managed to thank him. She'd managed to kiss his cheek and tell him good luck.

When she'd called bye to the boys, there'd been no answer at all.

Ed had sat with them while he waited for the car to pull up and tried to join in, chanting along with the characters in a manner that was ridiculously over the top but would have sometimes been a worthy sacrifice for the laughter he'd get from the boys. Today, with the boys barely glancing at him, all it had done was make him feel profoundly stupid.

When it had been time to go, he'd given the boys an awkward hug each and for him, Sam had managed a "Bye" and a lean of the head into his arm. But Daniel had still sat there, silent, and even when Ed had left the room with a grateful nod as Zia had moved past him to take over, Daniel hadn't looked at him once.

"You're not even _paying attention-"_ and Ed's head jerks up to see Alastair glaring at him suddenly, and his voice is different now, harsher. "See, _that_ is the leader you are electing. This is the person that you are being offered to get into Number 10. The same person who can't be fucking bothered-"

"He's not going to say fucking, Alastair-"

Alastair whirls on Stewart. "Well, I'm going to say fucking. I'm going to fucking say fucking if I feel like fucking saying fucking. And I'm going to fucking say fucking if it means it fucking gets through to him."

Alastair meets his eyes and Ed swallows as the other man raises an eyebrow. "Ready?" The word holds more of a challenge than last time.

Ed chews his lip, then forces himself to stop to meet Alastair's gaze. "Yes" he says and then a little more firmly "Yes."

Alastair folds his arms. "Good."

"Right." Greg gives Alastair a nod and says "Shall we tackle economy first?"

Alastair nods, busying himself with his notes and Ed, seeing their eyes on him, does the same. He squeezes the paper between his fingers, races through the arguments in his head-global financial crisis, Tories borrowing records, austerity targeting the poorest-

Alastair lifts his head and nods. Greg fixes his eyes on him. "David Cameron, if you get elected, how are you going to prove to the British public that they can trust you on the economy?"

Alastair clears his throat and leans forward a little, similar to the real Cameron. "Well, if the British public need a reason to trust us, all they need to do is look at our record. When I became Prime Minister, we inherited an economy that was falling apart-" Alastair brings his hand down in almost exactly the same way as Cameron does and then points directly at Ed. "Thanks to the mess left by _him _and the rest of Gordon Brown's advisers who were left floundering in the Treasury, and the British public will remember-this man, who is now leading the Labour party, who claims he wants to be your Prime Minister-" and Alastair looks straight ahead, as if finding the camera. "Was one of the men who was happy to leave every single citizen of this country struggling and helpless, while _he-"_ Another point at Ed. "Was happy to cling onto the coattails of the man who'd sold the gold and plunged our nation into this crisis."

The indignation rises furiously, opening Ed's mouth, the old explanations already climbing in his throat but Tom shakes his head, and with an effort, Ed forces his mouth shut and Alastair, casting him the quickest of glances out of the corner of his eye, goes on.

"What I can promise the country the Conservative party will deliver are the vows that we set out in our manifesto. We were left with an almost incomprehensible deficit, which we have managed to almost halve in under five years. Unemployment figures rocketed under Labour-we have taken those figures down."

Greg nods at Ed and Ed immediately turns to Alastair, trying to picture Cameron standing there, arching his eyebrow, staring at him.

"The truth is, David-" Something about the name in his mouth feels strange and he almost stops, nearly tripping over the next few words. "The British public aren't blind-they can_ see_-they can _see _your failures on the economy because _they're _the ones who live with the repercussions every day." He can feel himself finding his feet, the words stringing themselves together into sentences now. "The people living with and paying the price aren't the people in the Westminster bubble, they aren't the people in that fortunate top 1%. It's the-the mother who's working three jobs to try to keep food on the table. It's the hardworking families in the squeezed middle who _I've_ been speaking to who have somehow completely missed the benefits you claim the population is reaping and instead are feeling the effects of your government's cuts. _They _are the ones that are paying the price under the Conservatives-they will _not _be the ones who will pay the price under Labour."

Stewart claps. Torsten whistles. But Alastair, when Ed turns to him with a cautious, hopeful smile, just stares back impassively for a moment, before suddenly, surprisingly flashing a smile.

For a moment, Ed's shoulders relax. But then Alastair beams-a smile that isn't Alastair's at all-and says "Do you know, I'm glad Ed Miliband wants to talk about the truth because I've got some truths for him." Ed feels his own eyebrow arch as Alastair positions himself, one hand taking his weight, the way Cameron does.

"The truth-" and Alastair points at Ed now. "Ed Miliband is going to tell you tonight that he wants to be your Prime Minister. But here's what you need to remember about Ed Miliband. This is the man who nodded along with Gordon Brown's brilliant plans to sell the gold. This is the man who happily stood by and recommended we borrow and borrow and borrow some more, so that when the world was hit with a financial crisis, our nation almost buckled as a result. This is the man who was happy to ignore every attempt at a reparation to the damage we attempted to put in place-" Alastair fixes his eyes on Ed's. "All of those reparations that he warned us against helped us to make progress. All of them. And Ed Miliband was willing to overlook each and every one purely to strengthen his own political position."

Ed feels it hit him in the chest, the smack of shock that quickly filters into white hot burning indignation. His mouth opens, the words piling up ready to explain when Alastair holds up a hand.

Ed struggles but clamps his jaw shut. Alastair waits until Ed has remained silent for a few moments before he goes on. "This is the man whose own Shadow Chancellor thinks that the note Liam Byrne left in the Treasury-"

Ed rolls his eyes.

Alastair punches the makeshift podium. Torsten nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Do not roll your fucking eyes." Alastair is pointing right at him. "Do not fucking roll your fucking eyes. It looks like you're rolling them at the fucking public. You think that's going to get fucking votes?"

Ed swallows. He can feel the stares of the others on him. He feels small, stupid, his limbs suddenly too gangly, too unwieldy for his body. Alastair is glaring at him.

Ed nods mutely. He can feel the heat crawling up his cheeks. He swallows, folds and unfolds his fingers.

Alastair barely waits until Ed meets his eyes again before he launches back in. "This is the man whose Shadow Chancellor sees the damage they've done to the economy-" Alastair turns round to face an imaginary audience. "To your country-as a joke. _That_ is the man Ed Miliband wants to put in charge of your money."

Alastair steps back and gestures at Greg, who blinks, as if no longer sure who's in charge in the room. "Oh. Um-" He swallows, clearly jolting himself back into character. "How would you respond to that, Ed Miliband?"

Ed swallows hard to buy himself a few moments. His face feels hot and cold. He feels like he did at Haverstock, the first time someone hit him-the pain still spreading through his face, his cheek already swelling but hot shock, waves of it, gripping his insides leaving him shivering, something too close to tears prickling at his eyes, even his teeth chattering.

Now he swallows hard, his gaze wavering. "Um-"

He can sense Alastair's roll of the eyes before he even lifts his head and usually that would spur him on but now-he can feel his mouth working, groping frantically for words that are struggling to make an appearance.

"Well-what David Cameron has just told you is wrong" he manages, his voice quavering far more than he would like. "It-it is a complete fabrication to say that I don't care about the people of this country. In fact, I'd say, if we were to compare policies, then I'd say that the only party you could accuse of not caring about people are the Conserv-"

_"No." _Alastair's voice is like thunder and Ed isn't the only one who winces. His hands are suddenly clammy and he finds himself clutching the back of the chair harder, so the wood is digging into his fingers.

"Answer the question." Ed somehow manages to meet Alastair's eyes, which are overbright, the way Ed remembers well from all the times he'd encountered Alastair in government. "For God's sake, it's what you accuse Cameron of. People aren't stupid. They've heard Cameron throw five different shades of shit at you there, they want to know what you're going to say to it."

Ed doesn't dare to meet the eyes of any of his aides now. He wonders briefly, if Tom or Greg will interrupt at all and doesn't know whether he's hoping for that or not.

"Right." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment so he doesn't have to meet Alastair's gaze. "Ed Balls-" Somehow, he tries for a laugh. "Ed Balls may have an-unorthodox sense of humour. But I can assure you-while he-he may have tried to lighten the mood-he did not regard the-the situation we found ourselves in as a joke. We-" He squeezes his eyes shut. "We made mistakes with the economy, that is true. We made mistakes which must never be repeated. But we are determined_-I_ am determined-that we can show we've learnt from these mistakes. And whatever David Cameron tries to tell you, he and his party do not have all the answers. Austerity hasn't worked and the right thing to do would be to accept that and move on. Instead David Cameron wants to cut more, not less. If you vote for the Conservatives on 7th May, _that_ is the party you are choosing." His words sound weaker but at least he gets them all out.

"And how would-"

Alastair's already talking. "I would respond by pointing out Ed Miliband is completely wrong on the figures. We have almost halved the gap of the deficit through cutting and tough choices." Alastair lowers his voice. "These are not choices we wanted to make. These are not choices anyone wants to make. But these are the choices we were forced into, left with by Labour. By _him-"_ and Alastair points at Ed. "Brown, Balls and Miliband and they're using the same arguments now that they used seven years ago when the financial crisis first hit. That just proves that Ed Miliband, one of the _key instigators_ of this crisis-" Alastair stabs the air with each word. "Is not willing to take responsibility. Taking responsibility is what a strong leader does. Accepting responsibility is a show of strength. And-" Alastair fixes his gaze on Ed. "I'd think we'd go too far to expect that strength from a man who has been described as one of the weakest leaders the Labour party has ever had."

Ed's mouth opens and closes. He feels as though every word he could try to summon has vanished, just ripped away. Sickness curls suddenly, tight, in his stomach.

"That man-" Alastair's pointing at him now, jabbing the air with each word he speaks. "That man who left us with these impossible choices-that man, who stood by and let this country be plunged into turmoil-that man who can't even bring himself to stand up to his own Shadow Chancellor-" Alastair looks out at the audience. "Do _no_t, if you care about the future of this nation, ever let that man walk into Downing Street."

A dead silence falls after these final words, but they ring through. They're ringing in Ed's stomach and chest and he's hollow and too full at the same time and suddenly feels like he might vomit. His knuckles are white around the back of the chair. He feels ripped open, raw, empty.

It's Tom who breaks the silence. "Jesus Christ, Alastair-"

Alastair shakes his head, not even looking at Tom as he does so. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on Ed, who can feel his own gaze wavering, a horrible trembling spreading into his limbs at the sight of the glare on Alastair's face, teeth clenching as he narrows his eyes, staring straight at Ed. "That was the first question."

* * *

Ed is gripping the chair tightly. He's been trying to force himself to meet Alastair's eyes for the last hour but it's been getting steadily harder, the way it's been getting harder to meet the eyes of his aides. The way, it's starting to feel easier to fix his eyes on the makeshift podium, his shirt cutting tight under his arms, sweat damp on his back. Cold nausea grips his stomach.

"He is trying-" Alastair is saying, addressing the room at large. "To use Syria as an example of strong leadership. Ed Miliband, using Syria as an example of strong leadership. Let me remind him what actually_ happened_ back in 2013. This man-" Alastair points at Ed. "Was called into a room to help us respond to a chemical attack by President Assad on his own citizens. Nick Clegg, William Hague and myself were trusting and relying on this man's help and support-and, to be completely honest with you, his decency. Not as a politician, but as a human being." Alastair points at him again. "And what did Ed Miliband do? He prevaricated, he postponed, he evaded. He said he wanted to support action, then changed his mind."

"I never_ said_ I would support action-" The words burst out without thought. "I never gave anyone a promise of support-I said I'd _consider-"_

"This is the man-" Alastair says, talking over him. "Who ultimately withdrew support-support he had previously promised-not because he thought it was the correct option. Not because he wanted the best for the citizens of Syria. But because he wanted to try to score some political points."

Alastair's glaring at him now and it hurts. Ed keeps his jaw tight, even as he feels himself tremble. He closes his eyes, searches frantically for anything he can hold onto to keep his breathing steady, the way he used to-and the memory hits him like a punch-the way he used to back when he stood in a line of five, his brother a few places away and had to say, with David's eyes on him, that he didn't think his brother was as good a leader as he would be.

Alastair's voice slices into his head, forcing his eyes open. "This man was willing to put political capital above people's lives. This is a person who is willing to put his own career before the innocent lives of people who rely on politics to protect them. This is a man who, when push came to shove, put his own interests before the lives of civilians."

"That isn't-" Ed's voice bursts out of him, cracking on the words. "David Cameron is misleading-we never gave a _promise_ on support-"

"You said you would be _willing_ to show support for action and you went back on those words-"

Ed sees Torsten wince and at that moment, his shoulders slump.

Alastair points at him. "That is Ed Miliband's view in a nutshell. Indecisiveness, manipulation and above all else, putting your own career first-_that_ is what Ed Miliband thinks makes a good leader and _that_ is the sort of leader he'd be."

Alastair snaps his fingers. "Next question."

Ed blinks. "But-"

Alastair shakes his head. "Shut up."

A ripple spreads through the room, like a whisper. Ed feels himself grope for words. "I-"

Alastair holds up a hand. "You nothing._ You_ don't get to talk. Cameron's already talked. He's already said every word that'll make the headlines. And he's nailed you. For the rest of the night, every single person in that audience will be sitting there and every time they look near you, they're going to be thinking of what he said. No matter what you say now." Alastair turns away from him and Ed mouths wordlessly as Alastair says "Next."

Tom's looking pale. Things are always bad if Tom's looking pale. His eyes flicker briefly to Ed's and then glance away again. Ed feels a wrench of something like embarrassment and something like guilt and something-

He stopped meeting the eyes of most of his aides a while ago now-probably after the first question. For the last-hour? Ed's lost track of the time now-the questions have been there, hitting him over and over. He's aching as though he's been battered, Alastair's words bruising his skin, cracking him open.

Greg slowly reads out the next question. "How, when asking people to vote for you, can you ask them to trust in your leadership?"

Ed sees Stewart flinch and wants to hide. He blinks, furious at himself. This is-he knew this is what it entailed, he knew this is what he'd have to be prepared for. It's absolutely ridiculous that-

"David Cameron" Greg says, motioning towards Alastair.

Alastair clears his throat and steps forward. "I've been Prime Minister for five years. When I became Prime Minister, we inherited a country in crisis after thirteen years of a Labour government. We were faced with terrible choices, difficult decisions. I'm not going to stand here tonight and say that we got every decision right. I'm not going to claim to be a perfect leader. But what I will tell you is this; every decision I have made has been with this country's future in mind, with the future we can all head towards under consideration. And we have learnt from the mistakes of the past-from the mistakes of Labour and the mistakes of our own." Alastair turns to look at him and Ed feels a dull thud of something like apprehension in his chest.

"Ed Miliband" Alastair says, looking straight at him. "Has not done that. He wants to go straight back to the days of Labour. To borrowing, borrowing and more borrowing. To the exact same methods he used when he was in the Treasury-the exact same methods which, when hit with crisis, left this country reeling-which Ed Miliband and his party will always be responsible for."

Alastair leans forward, addressing an invisible audience now. "We have learnt from our mistakes and from Labour's mistakes. Yes, we have had to make difficult decisions. But every decision we have made has been to correct the mistakes of the past. Ed Miliband will try to suggest that we have made these decisions out of a lack of care. Nothing could be further from the truth." Alastair stabs his finger down like a full stop. "We have made these decisions _because_ we care. We've left child tax credits alone, we've helped reduce unemployment rates. We _do_ care and we will always do our best to show that I have kept the promises I made. I will keep the promises I'm making you now. For Ed Miliband to say otherwise is nothing but a lie. This is a man who was prepared to put politics above people's lives. This is the man who was prepared to twist and lie and manipulate. This is the man who has proven in the past that he is willing to put his own career before British citizens, before the lives of innocent people, and before his own _family."_

Stewart freezes, eyes flickering immediately to Ed. Torsten's mouth drops open. Greg's knuckles whiten on the paper. Rachel just stares, pen hovering in her hand. Ed notices all those things vaguely and quickly at the same time and he feels it hit him. It hits him hard in the chest then spreading out through him, cold and hot at once, his hands trembling. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn't even know if he can or if he should speak or if he-what he should say-

Alastair is finishing speaking, finishing his sentence but Ed can't focus. He feels as though he's been hit. He feels the same way he did the time some older kid threw a punch into his chest back at Haverstock, the same shock catching his lungs a few moments later, the aching sickness spreading down, under his ribs. He tries to breathe slowly, levelly, but all he can feel is the hot shock of it in his brain. And he-

_He won't say it_ is suddenly searing into his brain, screaming quietly underneath it all. He won't-Cameron wouldn't say that because-because he can't-he wouldn't be, he honestly-

Stewart's staring at him and Ed realises belatedly that he must have been prompted to speak. His brain seems to have been stunned. Any words he reaches for are gone.

He opens his mouth but is cut off by Alastair punching the chair. "For fuck's_ sake."_

"Alastair" says Greg but his eyes flicker to Ed's. Ed swallows and tries to form words, any words.

"For fuck's sake." Alastair nearly kicks the chair over. "What the_ fuck_ is that meant to be? A fucking deer in headlights?"

_"Alastair-"_ This time, Greg's voice is much louder and the glower he aims at Alastair makes Ed flinch.

"Do not fucking_ Alastair _me-" Alastair jabs a finger at Greg as though he's just insulted Blair. "You asked me to do a job. And my job is to tell him where he's fucking up. And _this-"_ The finger is jabbed at Ed this time. "This is fucking up. This is _more_ than fucking up. This is a fucking catastrophe laid out in front of you."

Ed feels the words hit him in the chest. The "this" might as well be a "he."

"Let me show you-" Alastair actually kicks the chair. "Let me show you what they'll do to him out there. And I swear to you, what I'm about to do is goddamn pretty fucking mild, compared to the media, who will fucking bite off his head and spit out the bones."

Alastair wheels round to face him. "You don't have any answers, do you?"

Ed blinks, his fingers white over the back of the chair.

"You don't have any answers for what you did."

It's a statement rather than a question and Alastair arches an eyebrow at him.

"I-"

"You can't explain why you plunged the country into debt with borrowing because you have no excuse for what you did-"

"I didn't-"

"You can't explain why you refuse to accept responsibility for this, because the truth is, pure and simple, that you're a coward."

The words ring out in the room. Ed swallows hard.

"That is the man claiming he would be a good Prime Minister for your country" Alastair announces, swinging round to address the room at large. "A coward who refuses to defend his own party's record in government because that record was inexcusable." Alastair stabs his finger down again on the last word.

He wouldn't do that. The thought slaps Ed in the face before he can push it away. He wouldn't-Cameron wouldn't say that-he'd never-never gone-

"You borrowed" he says helplessly. "Your borrowing has exceeded what Labour borrowed, your-"

It sounds as if he's pleading.

"This is the man who showed himself to be a complete hypocrite over the Syria atrocities-"

"You wanted to rush in-" Because he _did_, Cameron wants to rush in, Cameron_ always_ wants to rush in, he never bloody _thinks _about anything-

"This is the man-" Alastair goes on mercilessly and Ed tries to reach inside himself for the ruthlessness, the thing Peter had once told him to hold onto ("You don't get anywhere by being nice, Eddie"), the clear-headed righteousness that he'd once held onto throughout the leadership contest, with his brother standing just a few feet away.

"This is the man who was happy to put politics before the lives of innocent people-" Alastair turns so he's looking Ed straight in the eye. "This is a man who's so blinded by ambition that his own_ family_ are considered dispensable."

It's an aching coldness that cracks into Ed's chest then, something that spreads out over his words, trapping them. "That's not true."

"But then-" Alastair laughs casually. "This is a man who thinks so little of his family, he couldn't even be bothered to add his name to his own son's birth certificate."

Ed's heart almost stops. In the room, he registers a few indrawn breaths. He stares at Alastair, so shocked any hint of a retort has vanished-

How-how dare-

And then, even as Alastair launches into the next remark-_Cameron wouldn't say that-_

"But this is the man, the man who claims to want to be your Prime Minister, this is the man who was willing to crush his own brother's ambitions so he could crawl into power. And he plans to do the same with this country. Make no mistake-" Alastair looks out as though addressing an imaginary camera. "Ed Miliband doesn't care about the good of this country. Ed Miliband cares-and _only_ cares-about himself." Alastair raises an eyebrow. "Which is exactly why he stabbed his own brother in the back."

This time, there are more than a few indrawn breaths. Ed barely hears them. The words smash into him. He swallows hard. He feels his mouth open and close and his knuckles whiten on the back of the chair.

Alastair's eyes are fixed on him. "That man-that man whose leadership was described by his own _brother _as a soap opera-that same brother who can't even bear to be in the same _room _as him-actually thinks _he_ would be a good Prime Minister."

Ed can't speak. He can't think. He feels a sickness sinking into his stomach and when he looks down, he can see his fingers are trembling.

He closes his eyes, grasps for any words at all.

"The same man who doesn't care about his own family" Alastair's saying while Ed struggles to keep his breathing even. There's something hot prickling at his eyes.

"Wants you to believe that he would care about any of you-" Alastair points at him. "He wouldn't. He's let down the Labour Party, he's let down his family and he'd let down the_ country_ if he were Prime Minister."

The words ring through the room and that's when Tom moves forward. "That's enough." His own voice cracks a little. "That's fucking _enough."_

Rachel's already staring at him. "Are you OK, Ed?"

Ed can't look at her. He can't look at any of them. He swallows, again and again, and his hands shake.

"Ed?" says somebody-he thinks it's Torsten, but he can't say anything because his eyes are prickling, his cheeks are too warm and _no, no, keep it together, no-_

He shakes his head and then he's moving away from the chair, his eyes down, feeling the breaths begin to shake in his chest and he has to get out of here.

"Need some air" he manages to gasp or something like it, and then he's pushing quickly past the others and he doesn't stop moving until he reaches a door and finds himself out on the fire escape, cold December air slapping him in the face, his breath coming in tearing gasps and his eyes too hot and prickling and a little too wet for his liking.

* * *

_"I meant it, you know."_

_"You didn't mean it. " Because his brother didn't mean it, or he meant it but he meant something else too. Once, Ed would have known it or thought he did._

_David looked back at his brother._

_(He's always been able to do that look at you. Ed's eyes have always danced or stared too hard, and his hands have always waved and his voice has always faltered a little, but David's always been able to just look.)_

_"This isn't good for them, you know. This soap opera." David gave him the briefest glance. If glances could whisper, this was one, and Ed felt himself blamed and trapped in one look._

_"Or for us" David had said, almost as an afterthought, and Ed wanted to laugh and shout at the same time._

_ There isn't an us. _

_"You don't want there-" It had been all he was able to manage and David had just arched an eyebrow._

_(When they were children, Ed used to spend hours trying to copy the way his brother did that. He could never do it, of course.)_

_David just looked at him, and then, under that perfectly arched eyebrow, said "Well, it's not just about what I want."_

_And Ed had heard the confirmation and denial in those few words. It would have been easier if his brother had screamed at him._

_(It would always have been easier if his brother had just-)_

_"I won't see them" he'd said helplessly because it had just occurred to him, the boys, and because it was the only thing he could say._

_(There was too much to say and so that was the only thing he could say.)_

_David just shrugged, raising one shoulder in a little gesture. An aah-well gesture. An aah-well-sacrifices gesture. Like he couldn't be bothered to raise two. "We'll work something out."_

"Ed?"

Ed turns round hastily, wiping at his eyes, welcoming the way the cold air bites at his skin. He turns, blinking hard as he's jolted out of his reverie. "I-yeah-"

It's Alastair. He's not smiling, but he walks forward and then leans forward, folding his arms on the railing beside Ed. He looks down for a moment, then turns back to look at Ed. Ed doesn't even think about walking away.

"They think I was too hard on you" Alastair says abruptly. He looks Ed straight in the eye. "Do you think I was too hard on you?"

Ed swallows, unsure whether it's a trick question or not. He chews his lip, fingers clenching around the railing.

Alastair's voice is lower, then. "If I'm hard on you, it's because they're going to be harder."

Ed feels an obligation to say something. "I know-" he manages. It's all he can manage and he looks away, because the worst part is that he knows Alastair's right.

Alastair's voice lowers. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Miliband. Don't tell me you're fucking crying."

Ed ducks his head quickly but the shame of it stabs into his chest and he can't bear to look at Alastair. It's pathetic. It's shameful. He can't get through one rehearsal without-

He feels something nudging at his hand and he turns to find Alastair passing him a tissue.

He feels almost too ashamed to choke out a "Thanks" and Alastair nods and waits until Ed's wiped his face dry.

When he speaks again, his voice is lower. "You've got to be prepared, Miliband. You've got to be fucking prepared, because for all you know, he's going to be much fucking harder on you than that."

Ed stares over the railings, trying to touch the greyness of the December sky for a moment, and then he says "You mean-Cameron?"

Alastair snorts. "Of course, Cameron. Who else are you going up against, Hague?"

Ed takes a moment to absorb the words and then abruptly begins to move, wandering back and forth, his fingers trailing over the railings. "He wouldn't" he hears himself say suddenly.

There's a moment of silence and then Alastair says "What?"

Ed trails his hand along the bars again. He used to do the same thing as a child, counting the railings he passed as he walked to school, with his brother walking ahead of him. (David always walked ahead of him.)

"He wouldn't-he's not-Cameron's not going to say that" he manages. "He's not that-" He searches for the word. "Vicious."

There's a silence and then Alastair says "Listen."

This is so unlike Alastair that Ed looks round very slowly, still taking in the fact his head has actually remained attached to his body.

He's not even sure, now the words are out, what made him say it. Just-the fact it's _true_, because Cameron _isn't_ that-

Not that Cameron won't_ say_ things-

But it's just-

What Alastair came out with-

It was so-

Vicious and-

And Cameron_ isn't_ like that.

Not the way Alastair thinks-

"I don't know what's between you and Cameron-"

Ed's head jerks up sharply at that.

"Whether you're-friends or whatever-" Alastair dismisses this with a twitch of the head. Ed feels his shoulders sink in relief and then wonders why.

"But that's got to be forgotten." Alastair holds up his hands. "I'm not saying it's fucking easy. But when you're preparing for this-you've got to forget it. While you're behind your podiums, he's the fucking enemy. I don't care if he had you and the wife over for dinner last night, while you're up there, he's not your fucking friend, all right?"

Ed swallows. Alastair's not shouting but Ed's got no doubt that that could change in a second. He's got too much experience of Alastair.

But Ed says it anyway. "That's not what I meant."

Alastair raises an eyebrow and that's when Ed says, quickly "He wouldn't say that. I mean-I know all of that but it's not-he _wouldn't _say that. He's-he's not that-" He bites his lip. "Malicious."

Alastair stares at him for a full moment before he says "I sincerely hope you're fucking joking or I don't know whether to fucking kill you or kill my-fucking-self."

Ed's teeth sink into his lip harder, the tissue crumpling in his palm as his hands curl into fists. "No" he says, despite every instinct in his body screaming at him to shut up.

(He doesn't even know why he's arguing.)

"It would-that would look as bad for him as it would for us" he says, voice a little stronger now. "It would look-gratuitous."

Alastair stares at him for a long moment and Ed waits for the explosion. But Alastair just says, voice lower-which is somehow more terrifying-

"That's a point. But these points are still there. And you need to have a fucking defence because I can guarantee you now, Cameron's going to throw at least one of these fucking lines at you. " He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. "There's too much, Miliband. There's too much for him not to throw at you."

Somehow, that stings as much as the questions had.

"It's just-he's never that-" Ed searches for the word but trails off when he sees Alastair's eyes narrowing.

For a moment, he thinks Alastair's going to scream at him. But then instead, Alastair just steps forward, leans closer.

_"There's only one person around here I can remember knifing a Foreign Secretary-" _he says, quietly, looking Ed straight in the eye. _"And I think I'm looking at him."_

The words twist in between Ed's ribs, falling into his memory, polished and smooth and sharp in Cameron's voice, and he feels his cheeks flame.

Alastair keeps looking at him. "The thing is" he says quietly. "That's what some people think when they look at you." He raises an eyebrow. "Too many people."

Ed stands very still, his throat swelling.

Alastair just keeps watching him. "So we can't give him a chance to hammer the idea in too firmly."

Ed tugs at his suit. He's shivering a little and he looks away, taking in the way the view sprawls out into the distance.

"You know why I'm doing this" Alastair says abruptly, tugging his jacket higher. He doesn't look at Ed but instead follows his gaze out to the distance. "It's because I want you in Number 10."

Ed nods. Whenever anyone says those words, it makes him swallow and shiver and he's stopped being able to tell whether it's from excitement or not.

"Ten years of the Tories" Alastair says suddenly, with his eyes on the horizon now. "At least. If Labour don't win in May."

"We'll w-" Ed tries to say it but he can't quite yet.

Alastair gives him a long look but doesn't say anything yet. Then, he says quietly "Make sure you do."

He turns back to the horizon. "You know, we need Labour in government" he says quietly. "God knows what'll happen under five more years of Tory rule. At least five more years of Tory rule."

Ed flinches. Alastair doesn't look at him and he says quietly, "You know, with no power, we can't help anyone."

"I know that." Ed remembers joining the party when he was seventeen, the surge of pride he felt that he was doing something. That he'd be helping people.

"So I-" Alastair suddenly takes in a deep breath and says "Miliband, can I ask you something?"

After getting over the shock of Alastair asking permission to ask a question, Ed nods. "Um-yes. Yeah. Of course-"

Alastair gives him a strange half-grin. "How do you do it?"

Ed frowns. "What?"

Alastair turns away. "The-friends with Cameron. I mean-I can understand being friends with Tories-" He laughs suddenly. "I'd be a fucking hypocrite, otherwise. But-it's unusual."

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again. He grasps for words, because he-

Cameron is just-

Cameron is-Cameronish.

(Cameronish. Cameronesque?)

He's a Tory and an Etonian and a Bullingdon Boy.

He helped Murdoch and supports austerity and fights for the bedroom tax.

(The _bedroom tax_, of all things.)

He's the person he's got to beat and-

And then he can burst out laughing far too easily, his whole head tipping back as if he just can't contain whatever he finds so amusing.

There's the way his voice is always there in the back of Ed's mind, arguing and contradicting and niggling in a way that shouldn't make him smile.

There's the way he looks at his children and Ed's children too, with that grin and the way he hugs them, the way he wraps their arms tight around their shoulders like a shield.

There's the way he looked on that train, as he talked about riding to boarding school all those times, over all those years. There's the way, sometimes, he can-

He can do something-

Something-something so _kind_ that-

Little glimpses of it, like the sun through clouds but it's _there._

It's just-

"I don't know" he says, honestly. "I don't-but he's-"

Alastair raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Ed can't finish the sentence so he answers the question with a question

(exactly the way Cameron does that Ed _hates)_

and says "You don't really think he'd be that cruel?"

Alastair looks back at him for a moment and suddenly, it occurs to Ed to wonder just how much of this he's got ahead.

"I think" Alastair says, after a few moments, "He knows sometimes he has to be."

The words hover there for a moment before Alastair says, even more quietly now "And sometimes you might have to be, too."

There's not much to say to that so they stand there for a few moments more, looking out at everything stretching out in front of them before Alastair mentions they should probably get back inside, before someone thinks they've fallen over the railing.

Ed laughs a little too loudly and they turn away back to everything they still have to plan.

_Because he's Cameron_ is still hovering between them.

Almost like that alone is good enough.

* * *

They rehearse until it's dark. Dinner is grabbed from a service station on the way home.

By the time he gets home, Daniel and Sam are both long asleep.

Justine's in their bedroom.

He stands at their door for a long moment. From out here, he can't tell if the light is on or off.

He turns away from the door and goes to the spare room and tells himself it's just because he doesn't want to wake them.

* * *

It's the one time they're all allowed to be together and Nick doesn't appear to be relishing it.

Danny, on the other hand, is making a point of doing just that. Danny, for all the faults he's aware (painfully aware, sometimes) others ascribe to him, has always considered himself rather good at making the best of things. He's always been able to do it. Having red hair, having glasses, being a Lib Dem-Danny's used to finding the best in something. Making the best of it is sometimes necessary.

"You really should enjoy the party" he remarks to Nick, who's staring down at his drink as if he might want to fall into it. "Especially if it's-"

He trails off, the way everyone's started to do recently, when they talk about the future.

Nick waits a moment before he replies, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "You mean, in case we kick the Tories out?"

Danny laughs a little too loudly and Nick smiles a little too wide, at something they both want a little too much to be funny.

They look around for a few moments at the many-too many-MPs spilling around them. Jacob is chatting earnestly with Boris, who seems to be beaming in a typical Boris-like manner. David Laws is talking politely to Andy Burnham, while Zac seems to be talking to Miliband. At the sight of the latter, Danny automatically looks for David and then wonders why that's automatic.

But he supposes this is one of the times it would be perfectly acceptable for David and Miliband to talk, after all.

When he spots David, chatting away with George and Michael about something, his gaze strays automatically to Nick.

"Have you talked to him yet?" he asks, almost casually, without meeting Nick's eyes. Instead, he raises a hand and aims a grin across the room at Tim, who appears to be listening politely to Theresa. They both return the smile and wave and it's then that Nick says, without looking at him, "We're on better terms."

"That sounds almost friendly."

Nick manages a smile. "It's just-" He laughs then, deliberately loud over the music. "I suppose it's good we learn now what it's going to be like."

Danny glances back at him then. Nick gives him a smile that's too wide and too quick.

Danny tilts his head. "You really think this is what it's going to be like?"

Nick laughs and Danny is suddenly seeing them an hour or so earlier, Nick and David, both ruffling the hair of a small boy, Miliband crouched down next to him. The three of them had turned to smile at a proffered mobile phone and for a moment, all their heads had been together, their smiles centred on the little boy. And they'd leant away, those smiles captured on camera.

* * *

Zac elbows Sadiq as the music segues into a One Direction song. "I hear you're a fan of this."

Sadiq gives him a tap on the arm and then shakes his head. "I said Ammanagh was a fan of theirs'. Which I doubt I'll ever be able to forget, given that song has burrowed its' way into my head."

Zac shakes his own head and watches Ed across the room, with David. Sadiq does too and Zac glances between them. "I forget-you two know each other pretty well, don't you?"

Sadiq nods. "Pretty well. I mean, a few years-"

"And I thought we were meant to be the party of old connections."

"I don't think since 2005 counts as an "old connection", Zac-" Sadiq points out, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Must seem like one, with Miliband."

Sadiq gives him a raised eyebrow. "It's Christmas. I'm going to let that pass."

Zac gives him an arched eyebrow in return and a grin. "Will you have come up with a retort by New Year?"

He grins at the look on Sadiq's face. "Come on. That was a good line."

"Would you like an honest verdict on that?"

Zac gives him a grin and they both watch Ed and David across the room for a moment. "He's at yours' tomorrow, isn't he?"

Sadiq blinks. "I hope not, or Saadiya might have something to say."

"Oh, well, that's hilarious, why don't you hand that line to Ed? It might help him win."

Sadiq's eyes are glittering with amusement. "Is this how it's going to be until May?"

Zac gives him a shrug. "Probably. Bad luck for your guy, isn't it?"

"Ed writes all his own stuff" Sadiq points out. "So those lines might fall short-"

Zac stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "You don't really expect me to believe that. Come on-"

Sadiq sighs. "I know that, I know that Crosby writes everything for your man, Zac, but-"

"Oh, that's _beautiful_-do, please do continue while Ayesha tries to get Ed to, I don't know, fit a joke into his mouth and see if he can in fact make the words _work-"_

He's learnt over the years since they've known each other that there's a certain limit to which he can push Sadiq, particularly when it comes to Ed, and he's leaning against it now.

So instead, he lightens his tone, gives Sadiq a grin and says "You could always make a bet on your leadership chances."

"Very amusing, Zac."

"It is." Zac casts another glance about the room and then winces. "Oh, dear God. What's Boris doing?"

Boris is currently leading a conga around the room while he claps his hands, declaiming One Direction lyrics loudly. Balls is in the centre, George is clapping his shoulders, Bercow is attempting some enthusiastic dancing, while Andy is starting a round of clapping. Justine is chatting with Jacob, her long blonde hair bobbing as she does so, who appears to be regarding the whole spectacle with a rather endearing bemusement.

Sadiq leans in, eyes on Boris, so that his voice brushes Zac's ear. "And there's _your _leadership challenge."

"What-that wildly _popular_ leadership challenge? I'd just like you to imagine it if, ah-_Gordon _had fallen into a river or got stuck on a zip wire-"

"Oh, bringing up old wounds-it's a touch of class, Zac-"

"You know, when you try to bring up the moral ground, that's when you know you're _losing-"_

"Tories see moral ground as pointless,_ fascinating_ insight-"

"Oh, you know what I mean-it's like when someone tries to illustrate how close they are to their kids by spinning out some crap about how-"I'm present when I'm present", you know, that kind of thing-"

_""I'm present when I'm present?"_ What kind of-"

"Oh, that's always what people come out with. And it's always complete shit-I mean, "I'm present when I'm present"-so? What happens when you're _not_ present? It makes no sense-"

"Oh, I agree it makes no sense. I mean, I don't know how we got onto this t_opic-"_

"But you find my company fascinating-"

"See, it's this kind of self-delusion that, that renders _your _party-"

"Camera's over there. We should get them over, do a little editorial."

"What, how to debate over grammar at a Christmas party?" Sadiq takes a sip of his drink. "Cameron could always round the argument off at ours'."

"If he and Miliband haven't killed each other over a turkey-"

"Over a_ turkey_, fantastic comeback-"

"Well, I know it's not a kind name for him, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear "Balls" was made up..."

* * *

"I'm starting to get fed up of parties."

"You're not fabulous at being a guest, Prime Minister."

David widens his eyes. "I think you're in the minority there-but then, I know a minority is rather what you're hoping for-"

"You're rather projecting again, Prime Minister-" Ed takes a gulp of orange juice. "And ignoring the facts."

"The facts being?" David takes a sip of wine, having watched Miliband decline three glasses consecutively, and glances around at the crowd of Labourites he's found himself in the middle of.

"The facts _being-"_ Miliband tugs at his tie and then aims a grin and a wave at someone. "That you are actually here as my _guest."_

"For which I've thanked you" David points out quickly. "Repeatedly. And enthusiastically."

Miliband's mouth appears to be twitching. "Thanking me by offering to sing "The Red Flag" is not genuine thanks-"

David grins, feeling a little lighter-which he needs after the week he's had.

"I'll find some alternative method of thanks, then" he informs Miliband happily, taking in the faces he usually sees across the Commons. "I don't know, a song-"

"Amusing, Prime Minister-"

"Or just drop to my knees."

There's a split second of silence, during which Miliband almost chokes on his orange juice and Douglas, who has just appeared at David's elbow, says "I'm not sure I want to hear the start of this conversation."

"You don't" Miliband informs him and David sighs. "Is there a reason you're sticking with orange juice?"

Miliband arches an eyebrow. "I prefer my thinking to be clear, Cameron."

David blinks at him. "Is there any particular reason?"

Miliband just raises a brow again. "Cross-party territory generally requires-"

He's interrupted by David snorting. _"Cross-party territory?_ You're not in a war film-I haven't just descended on a bloody German parachute into your _trench-"_

"Maybe you're a negotiator" Douglas suggests amicably. "Who has been invited over for talks with the enemy."

Miliband stares at him. "Did you_ study_ history?"

"Clegg."

David blinks. "You studied Nick?"

Miliband frowns at him. "Did _you _study Nick?"

"Don't ask me, you're the one negotiating about him."

"Yes." Douglas snaps his fingers. "We must free Clegg from the shackles of his Tory captors."

Miliband stares at Douglas for a moment, before saying "Balls is serving the drinks again, isn't he?"

Douglas nods. "Right-before Andy and Yvette took over the bar."

"Right." Miliband glances over, then winces. "God, it looks like a deleted episode of Cheers."

David snorts. _"You_ just made a pop culture reference, Miliband."

"Well, I know it isn't the Smiths-"

"Christmas must be _thrilled_ its' status as the season of miracles has been restored-"

"God" announces Douglas, who's been glancing between the two with some amusement for the last few minutes. "This is like PMQs if everybody was high."

"This is not what a person looks like high" David assures him, and off Miliband's look "I happen to have some experience with those under the influence of narcotics."

Miliband arches a brow again. "I imagine."

David bites his lip hard to hold back the utterly treacherous grin twitching at his mouth. "And you accuse_ me_ of not being a good guest, when you as a _host_ cast cruel aspersions on those you have invited to your gathering-"

"This is proving my point" mutters Douglas, taking another sip of his drink.

"I never actually said you _weren't _a good guest." Miliband's eyes are dark and glittering. Maybe Balls did mix the punch too strongly, but David finds himself grabbing onto the absurd thought that they look almost playful.

Then he's grabbing onto the thought that Miliband should look playful more often.

It's a weird thought, the way Ed's eyes glitter, his mouth almost puckish, and David lets it go a little too quickly.

"Inferences, Prime Minister-" Miliband's saying, which doesn't help with forgetting, and then Douglas chips in with "Anyway, even if_ Ed's_ casting aspersions, the rest of us are good hosts. Even to archetypal Tory scum."

"Thank you, Douglas."

"You're welcome." Douglas gives him a beam, and then says "Which by the end of the night, should you ever wish to change your allegiance, you will feel."

This sincere invitation is concluded by Balls, who greets David with a snort and a "Haven't tripped over your privilege there, have you, Cameron? I'd get some minimum-wage worker to clean it up but you've probably had them all shot."

David grins. Balls glances around at Douglas and Miliband, both of whom are looking at him askance, and spreads his hands. "What? It's Christmas. I'm being nice."

* * *

Andy glances at Yvette, who's leaning on the other end of the bar. She glances back, then looks away. They glance away, then back at each other, then grin.

"It's not a competition" Andy tells her and Yvette grins back. "I'm not competing."

They look away, then back at each other, and then both collapse into laughter.

"I'll get asked for more drinks than you" Yvette warns him cheerfully and Andy arches an eyebrow. "I thought it wasn't a competition."

Yvette grins. "It isn't. Competition implies you have a chance of winning."

Andy beams. "Overconfidence is not a becoming trait, Ms. Cooper-"

"Don't let Harriet hear you say that "Yvette points out, before frowning. "Actually, forget Harriet, _I _should fucking kick you for that."

"Please don't" Andy requests cheerfully, turning back to the bar. "It's not terribly festive."

Yvette snorts and then turns too. _"This_ isn't terribly festive" she points out, indicating the bar and the space between them.

Andy's smile fades for a second, though he hitches it back into place quickly, decisively. Yvette means the competition. He knows that.

He also knows she means the reason why they're both at the bar.

Andy looks at Miliband quickly across the room. The worst part of it is that he likes him.

The fact is, Miliband can be likeable. In a geekishly endearing way, likeable. And that can be good.

It _is _good.

It's not election-winning good.

Andy winces even thinking it.

But if it comes to it-

It's not just about that either, though, he tells himself, as he's sure Yvette is telling herself, it's what's good for the party.

But what's good for the party can sometimes be what's good for you. And Andy isn't sure which it is this time.

But as Yvette put it, it's not festive.

So they grin and chat and offer to pay for drinks and each pretends not to notice that neither has moved from the bar.

* * *

Sadiq gives Ed a few moments of watching Cameron, a smile playing around his mouth, before he touches his elbow and says, his own grin peeking through, "So he accepted your invitation then?"

Ed jump sa little and Sadiq bites his lip, quickly hiding his own grin. Ed turns to him, a little too quickly. "W-yes." Another glance at Cameron, under his eyelashes. "Well-_he _invited _me_, so-"

"Ah." Sadiq takes a sip of orange juice, grinning as he notices that Ed's drinking the same. _And that's the only reason?_ he's about to add, but at the last moment, he takes in the flush of Ed's cheeks and stops himself.

They go a long way back, him and Ed. He's not entirely sure just why they click the way they do-there's similarities, of course, but somehow Sadiq has always found that Ed just seems to suit him. They go well together, work well together. There'd never really been a question of Ed choosing anyone else to head up his leadership campaign-not once Douglas had chosen David.

Another time, it might have been David.

Sadiq takes another look at Ed and it flashes into his mind, as it does from time to time.

Ed's dark eyes, wide, searching for his own, jaw tense and set, lights humming in that hotel corridor. _David, what have I done to-_

"Balls is going over" Ed says, suddenly tensing and then he says "It's-"

Sadiq takes another sip of juice. "It's what?" he says, still watching Cameron, the way he's chatting away to Rachel, laughing at something she's said. It's a strange thing about Cameron-that he can always do this, no matter where he is.

"Strange" Ed says, his knuckles whitening a little on the glass. "Just-" He shakes his head suddenly and the words spill out a little too fast. "I mean-looking at him, you wouldn't think-"

"He's not a monster, you know, Ed." Sadiq says it a little too easily.

"I know." The words are snapped a little too quickly and Ed flinches. (Sadiq doesn't.)

"Sorry." Ed takes another sip of orange juice, touches Sadiq's arm awkwardly. "It's just-"

He watches Cameron and for a moment, Sadiq watches confusion creep across Ed's brow. "He's so diff-"

He trails off and then clears his throat. "I don't know how he does it, anyway" he says, voice a little quieter than usual. "It's just-"

Sadiq wonders the same. But glancing at Ed, he feels a stab of something-something fond and raw, something that reminds him that Ed can't do that. Ed has never been able to do that.

In 2010, that had been a good thing.

In 2010.

Now, Sadiq watches him for another moment and then looks back at Cameron, who's making Rachel laugh now, Cameron's smile reaching all the way to his eyes. Ed watches him and Sadiq watches Ed watch him.

He watches, glancing between the two, and it occurs to him then that 2010 really was quite a long time ago.

* * *

David gives Balls a grin. Balls doesn't return it, which David has expected. Indeed, Balls has been considering David with his head on his side for several minutes, arms folded.

"Well?" he asks, with a grin. "Found what you were looking for?"

Balls snorts. "No."

"And what was it?"

David doesn't know quite why he's always enjoyed rattling people. Perhaps it's a relic of boarding-school days, when the idea was very much to rattle or be rattled. Or maybe it's from sitting through PMQs since the '90s. But it's something he's always liked.

Balls snorts. "God knows."

David laughs before he can stop himself. "This has been informative, then."

That's when Balls exhales, turns round and blurts out a little too quickly "Look, Cameron, I'm not being fucking rude but what the hell are you doing here?"

David blinks. "Fabulous hosting skills, Balls-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Balls takes a step closer to him. "Cut out all this crap. You know what I'm talking about."

David gives him a long look, judging the situation carefully. Then, slowly, he says "Labour might want to work on its' communication methods, if they're as poor as this."

Balls laughs then, the sound harsh and impatient. "Come on, Cameron. This is it." He gestures between them. "This is what I-there's a fucking election coming up. You know what I mean. And you and Ed are bloody palling it up-"

David arches an eyebrow. "So-" he says, deliberately waiting a few seconds too long. "What you're saying is, I should be throwing Miliband's invitations back in his face?"

He stresses the plural ever so slightly. As he'd hoped, Balls' eyes narrow a little but-as he'd anticipated-the other man recovers himself almost immediately. "You know what I mean. You can't think no-one's going to fucking pick up on it-"

"On what?"

Balls stares at him then. "I know you want to win the fucking election, Cameron."

David tilts his head. "Miss Marple feeling the threat to her job, is she?"

But the words hover between them, and the question in them is sinking between David's ribs.

He bites out the words, one by one. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Balls snorts. "Come on, Cameron."

He's going to make Balls say it. "Tell me." His voice is a little lower now. "What you're implying."

Balls stares back at him for a moment and then almost blurts out "If Ed's giving anything away to you-"

David stays very still, letting the words sink in, giving himself a moment to plot his next move.

"Would I tell you if he did?" he says and allows himself a brief grin at the look that appears on Balls' face.

"I'm warning you, Cameron, if-"

"If what?" David stares at him, keeping a smile at his mouth. He chooses his next words with care. "That's really your assessment of your leader's abilities?"

Balls' eyes bulge. "Don't put words in my mouth, Cameron."

David takes a step closer to him this time. "I haven't tried to get one single bloody thing out of him about your campaign."

(He knows Balls won't believe him.)

(He wouldn't have told Balls if he thought he'd believe him.)

Balls shakes his head. "I didn't ask you about asking Ed-"

"He calls you Balls." The words slip out before David can think about it.

Balls blinks twice. "What?"

"He calls you Balls. You call him Ed but he calls you Balls-"

"What's going on?" Ed's appeared at his side with Sadiq, both of their eyes flickering between Balls and David. Ed's jaw tightens, his eyes swivelling slowly to Balls.

It's Sadiq who says a little too quickly "Hey, Dave-that all right to call you-" off David's nod, flashing a quick grin "Have you tried these?" He grabs at a passing tray of canapes with a grin at the waiter. "Cheers."

David blinks, a little wrong-footed by the sudden turn of the conversation.

"Delicious" Sadiq says gamely, popping one in his mouth. He chews for a moment, then frowns. "OK, might be an exaggeration."

"-and he's _telling the truth_." Ed's voice cuts into the conversation and Sadiq and David's heads both whirl round at the same moment, and their gazes snap back to each other.

Sadiq speaks first, after a long moment, Miliband's voice having become a fierce whisper next to them.

"Ed doesn't often read him the riot act" Sadiq says, almost casually, and David stares at him for another moment before asking "How much did you hear?"

Sadiq watches him quietly, and then says "I suppose it was always going to be_ him_ who-"

But whatever he was about to say, he doesn't finish because then suddenly Ed is there at their sides, his dark hair rumpled as if he's been running his fingers through it.

"Sadiq." Miliband's eyes dart between the two of them for a moment before he swallows, throat bobbing awkwardly with the movement and then says "Could I-could I just have-"

"Sure." Sadiq holds up his hands easily. "Do you want me to babysit our future Chancellor?"

David snorts. Sadiq has the grace to look amused. Ed doesn't.

It's as Sadiq steps towards Balls, who looks as if he's already been joined by Andy, that Miliband draws in a deep breath and then makes an awkward indication with his head, which David takes as an indication.

He follows Miliband to the door, watching as the other man pulls both their coats down from the rack, vaguely noticing that Miliband recognized them both with ease. The winter air slaps them in the face. David shivers and takes his coat from Ed with a muted thanks, pulling it tightly around himself.

He turns to look at Miliband, who's turning to him. "It was Balls who asked me."

The light from inside illuminates half of Miliband's face and David can see his eyes glittering. Miliband just watches him for a moment and then says "I know."

_And he's telling the truth,_ rings in David's ears again and he blinks. "Hang on-you-"

Miliband's eyes dart a little too quickly away from his own.

David hesitates, mouth open, and then closes it again. "Go on."

Miliband stares at him and then rakes a hand through his hair. "I know he was the one who asked you" he manages, voice a little strained. "I know-"

He seems to struggle for a moment, eyes darting before suddenly he stops moving, his hand dropping abruptly to his side. "Let's go."

David blinks. "Pardon?"

Miliband meets his eyes, gaze suddenly glittering fiercely again. "Let's just-I need to get out of here."

David stares at him, grasping for words. When he finds them, they come out rather feebly. "But it's your party, Mili-"

Miliband laughs. It's not so much the laugh that makes David stare as the fact that it's _Miliband._

_Because Miliband doesn't often laugh like that. Miliband's laugh is stupidly high and unguarded. Miliband's_ laugh is a little too much like a giggle for its' own good.

Which is really rather typically _Milibandy._

Or maybe it's just like that for _David-_

Miliband mutters something and then with a quick jerk of the head, heads away from the building and David finds himself with little option but to follow him.

* * *

Ed isn't entirely sure until they both step outside that he's indicated to Cameron to follow him, and even when it sinks in that he has, he isn't sure why.

He's not even entirely sure why he wanted to leave. But something about hearing Balls' voice-

He's not sure. Maybe it had been something about Balls' voice, his eyes narrowed as Ed lowered his own-

_For Christ's sake, Miliband-_

_What? It's a bloody Christmas party-_

_Yeah, a fucking Labour Christmas party. And he's a fucking Tory._

_You sound like a fucking child-_

He's dragged out of these thoughts by the sight of Cameron standing next to him, brow furrowed. He stares back, then realises Cameron's waiting for a cue from him.

Ed blinks at the thought.

Cameron takes a step towards him and Ed speaks a little too quickly. "Do you have your team?"

"My-"

"Protection team."

On cue, a figure moves behind Cameron and Ed jumps, a little wrong-footed at the sheer subtlety of the Prime Minister's security team.

The thought whispering that they, or people like them , will be_ his_ security team in a few months, he draws in a breath and manages "Um. Would you like to go somewhere-would you like to-"

He feels oddly awkward, as if he's just asked Cameron out to dinner.

Cameron stares back at him, eyes sharp and fixed on Ed's own, and then he says, as if Ed's asked him to pass him a pen, "Yes, all right."

Ed blinks as Cameron turns to his protection team and says a few words, and then turns back to Ed. "Where?" he says, rather peaceably and then waits, clearly for Ed to say where he wants to go.

Unfortunately, Ed has little idea.

* * *

"I've never seen you drive" Cameron remarks and Ed shrugs. He doesn't drive as often as he'd like; the ministerial car arrives more often than not. He glances at Cameron, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, then again.

Cameron leans his head on one hand, and Ed can feel him watching, even as he turns his attention back to the road.

Cameron's protection team are behind them, but for some reason, Ed doesn't want to think about them at all. _Protection team_ just makes him think of _Prime Minister_ and then _election-_

_Election._

_You know why he's probably doing it, don't be so bloody-_

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Is that advisable at the wheel, Miliband?"

Ed grits his teeth and shakes his head, Balls' voice still ringing in his ears.

(He hates Balls' voice. It gets everywhere. Like oil or Tory smears.)

"Miliband-"

_For God's sake, this is the reason everyone thinks we don't have a bloody chance-_

For a moment, he can't tell whose voice he's hearing.

"Ed-"

_"What?"_ He half-spits the word at Cameron, and then freezes in place as the other man leans back abruptly, clearly an inch away from brushing Ed's arm.

Ed swallows. "Oh. God. I-I really-I, um-"

Cameron doesn't say anything. Ed bites his lip. "I-um-"

Abruptly, he pulls the car to the side of the road and hears an answering squeal of tyres behind him as Cameron's team does the same.

A muffed curse slips through Cameron's teeth and Ed leans his head on the wheel.

"Ed." Cameron's hand lifts and then "Ed."

Ed doesn't look at him. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths, the wheel digging into his forehead.

The answer that had spat itself out before he could think about it when Cameron had told him _This is your party-_

_Not really._

It's not true, he tells himself weakly. It's not-

_And you're telling me you believe him-_

_I'm telling you that-_

He sees again Andy and Yvette standing at the bar and his stomach twists a little.

It's after a long moment that he lifts his head from the wheel and turns to see Cameron's eyes watching him, head tilted to the side.

Which is when he realises that he has just ended up sitting with his head on a steering wheel in front of Cameron. Who he's just driven off down a road with apparently no fixed destination in mind.

Ed considers how long it would take to attach a hose to an exhaust pipe.

Instead of this currently rather tempting thought, he sits up slowly, deliberately not looking at Cameron. He adjusts his suit, loosens his tie a little.

Then, he turns to look at Cameron, feeling defiantly that Cameron had better look back because-

Cameron's watching him with his head on one side, hand draped over the top of the seat. Finally he says "Yes, Miliband. I often feel like doing that after dealing with my backbenchers as well."

Ed stares at him. A small smile tugs at Cameron's mouth.

It takes Ed a moment to make his mouth work. "You do know that you just confided divisions with your backbencherth to your Leader of the Opposition?"

Cameron merely shrugs and then a strange laugh peels itself out of Ed's mouth. It's higher, a little tighter than usual, but somehow it's not even an effort. Somehow, the word _your_ sent shivers down his back.

He's about to make a comment about changing places in a few months, but stops himself at the last minute.

(But it's strange, the thought of having any other Leader of the Opposition when he's-he's used to _Cameron_ being the one he debates-)

(The thought of Cameron having any other-not that Cameron will _need_ one-)

(But the thought of someone_ else_ arguing with Cameron-)

(For some reason, Ed grits his teeth at the thought and something like sickness curls in his stomach.)

Cameron just smirks back at him. "Where are we going then?"

For some reason, this just makes Ed laugh harder and Cameron grins more. When Ed can speak, he looks at Cameron and almost forgets why he left, dissolving into laughter again.

Cameron's shoulders are shaking a little when Ed next meets his eyes and both of them are grinning.

"So where are we-"

"Where are we-"

"Going, then?"

Cameron smiles. Ed opens his mouth, watches Cameron for a second before he blurts out "I have an idea."

"Oh?"

"You'll ridicule it."

"I won't."

"Yes, you will, Prime Minister." For some reason, this almost makes Ed laugh harder.

"I won't." Cameron draws his finger across his chest. "Here, see-"

Ed eyes him doubtfully. Cameron grins. "You could always make me do that before every promise I make on the campaign trail-put it in your manifesto, there's probably room-"

Another snigger explodes out of Ed's mouth and this time, Cameron's shoulders shake too. For a few moments, they both convulse in shared mirth, laughing from their respective seats, losing control again every time one glances at the other.

It's-

"I know a place" Ed manages, when their laughter has calmed somewhat.

Cameron raises a brow. "Evidently."

Ed stares at him for another moment and then says "You still want to come?"

Cameron just looks at him and says "Of course."

Without looking away, Ed reaches out and with a flick of his key, the engine roars into life at the exact same moment Cameron's eyes fall a little too hastily away from his own.

* * *

It's when they get out of the car, Ed leading the way onto the grass, that Cameron asks again "Where exactly are we?"

Ed takes a breath, watching the words drift in a cloud in front of him. "Just-here, you'll th-see in a moment-"

Cameron's protection team are following at a distance. Ed blinks and has to fight back a wild urge to laugh. He suddenly feels a little mad. He's out here in the middle of the night with Cameron and an entire protection team. On a whim.

He blinks and suddenly something swells in his throat and he feels almost shaky. He quickly avoids Cameron's gaze, which is fairly easy in the dark.

"Come on" and Cameron's voice is light in the dark. "You're the one who knows the way. Unless you've hired some assassin to take care of the election for you-"

Ed manages to roll his eyes. "Your protection team are just behind us, you know-it would hardly be a well-conceived plan-"

"Well, exactly. Typical of Labour."

Ed snorts and then-

He thinks it might be the words or the tone or-

But he reaches out and his hand fastens on Cameron's sleeve.

"Come on."

His hand stays there, stupidly and Cameron doesn't push it away. In fact, for a few moments, they just walk like that, with Ed's fingers fastened into Cameron's sleeve.

He lets go then and says "Sorry-" and Cameron says "It's fine" too quickly.

* * *

David only realises there's a fence a few inches away from him when he resorts to the use of his mobile phone to light the way, and consequently grabs Miliband's arm. "Careful-"

"What-"

"You're by the fence-"

"Oh. Right." He feels rather than sees Ed's shoulders relax a little and lets go quickly. "We're, um. Here then."

"Are we?"

Ed nods and reaches out, fumbling with what David quickly realises is a gate, frowning. He tilts his head back and squints at the shapes he can make out in the dark. Large, misshapen outlines jut up out of the ground and squinting, David can just make out that they look like-

"Parliament Hill." Miliband's holding the gate open for him. "Parliament Hill playground."

David blinks, wondering quite where he'd been expecting Miliband to take him. "Um-"

Miliband's tracing the ground with the tip of his shoe. He pushes his hands into his pockets, avoiding David's eyes. "Um-" He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "We don't-I just-"

He rubs his neck again and something in David's chest twists painfully. Something about the gesture's so bloody...._young._

Miliband looks-

Typical bloody Miliband.

David steps closer to him. "Excellent" he says, keeping his voice light. "Given most of the public think we're children anyway-this is a rather helpful visual aid-"

Miliband snorts and David turns to give him a grin.

Miliband crosses the playground and David follows him, until they reach the swings, where Miliband leans against the pole. "I-I know it'th weird-" he says, tugging at his sleeve apparently unconsciously. "It's just-um-it's where Z-we bring the boys sometimes. And-"

David deliberately waits a few moments before he says "Taking me to a playground in the middle of the night isn't quite the strangest thing I've ever heard of, Miliband."

Miliband's cheek lifts a little in what could be a smile, the stripe of silver in his hair glinting in the moonlight.

David, biting his lip, manages to wait a few more moments before he says "But it's certainly up there."

Miliband does look at him, then. This time, there's no doubt he's smiling.

"So much for wanting to come with me, Prime Minister-"

"It might not just be the delight of your company, Miliband-" David steps round and pushes a swing back and forth gently. "I might just be rather enamoured with the idea of exploring playgrounds in-"

He breaks off at the look on Miliband's face. "I might abandon that sentence."

Miliband's lip twitches. "Pleathe do."

There's another moment of silence before David lets out a small snigger and that's when a laugh explodes out of Ed's mouth, next to him and David's hand fastens around the rope of the swing, a little rough on his palm, his chest aching and his cheeks hot with laughter, even in the icy grip of the night air on his skin.

It's his hand around the rope that puts the idea in his head, he tells himself. But the fact is, it's late and it's dark and there's no cameras around and there's no one else around except a protection team who are paid to be discreet.

He steps around and with a grin at Miliband, who's still recovering himself, sinks onto the swing. It bobs gently under his weight.

"What are you _doing?"_ Ed's voice cracks curiously in the air and when David glances round, Miliband is leaning against a swing pole, a smile still peeking out at his mouth.

"Swinging, Miliband." David's foot traces the ground. "I understand it must seem a novelty to you, actually using objects for their intended purpose-"

"Tax havens included?"

David flashes him an offended look. "I was thinking more of staplers."

Miliband just rolls his eyes. "You seem to forget you've been Prime Minith-ster for five years-"

"I don't forget. I'm frequently reminded by yourself-" David's actually swinging a little now, tossing the occasional grin over his shoulder. "And of exactly what relevance is that reminder?"

"The relevance of positively defending your own record. I mean, it's understandable that you _can't-"_ Miliband breaks off as David reaches back and catches the rope of the other swing, jerking it up and down. "What are you doing, Cameron-"

"You did choose a destination. I understand your party's unfamiliar with the concept of _reaching_ its' chosen destination-"

Miliband's eyes roll so far that David wonders if they'll come back down again. "You'd do a lot better if you _listened_, Prime Minister-"

He's cut off by David shaking the rope again. "What?"

David arches an eyebrow. Miliband rolls his eyes again. David grins at him.

Miliband sighs, then steps round slowly. "Thith-s is inadvisable" he tells David, a tad tetchily. David grins. "You brought me here."

Miliband sighs and David drags a foot along the ground as he begins to swing a little more vigorously. He waits a few moments before he says "How come?"

He keeps the question light, tilts his head back as he swings, but Miliband's head snaps round sharply to look at him. David keeps his gaze straight ahead, now swinging a little higher.

When Miliband speaks, his voice cracks with a smile. "You know your coat's getting caught, don't you?"

"Yes." David tilts his head and beams at Miliband. Miliband looks back at him, mouth twitching, before pulling his gaze away just as he dissolves into laughter again.

David grins as Miliband lifts his head a little, his own hands gripping the ropes now, slowly swinging himself back and forth. "I juth-st like it here" he says, a little more quietly, the laughter dying from his voice. David watches him, Miliband's eyes bright in the dark, hands still wrapped around the ropes. He notices that lisp and, with a start, realises he's noticing it more these days. He wonders if it's getting worse or if he's just never noticed it like this before.

"It's-" Miliband draws in a breath. "I don't know why I'm telling _you_ thith" he says suddenly and David looks away before Miliband's eyes can catch his.

"Well, I don't know" he says, swinging a little harder. "I'll be sure to include the Parliament Hill playground in our election manifesto, now I know it's a prominent Labour concern."

Miliband breathes out in a ghost of a laugh.

"Is that what these are now?" he says, a little more quietly. "Manifesth-sto discussions?"

For some reason, the lisp is like a wriggle in David's chest. His heart's a little faster.

"Is that what you think they are?" he says, with an attempt at a grin and Miliband meets his eyes, a laugh already breaking out of his mouth. "You can't help yourth-self, can you, Prime Minister?"

"I could always repeat my answer-"

Miliband's smile escapes again, now. "That would be a generouth-s offer if it was an answer-"

David does what he always does when MIliband asks him something like this-he grins. "Well-you seem to be good at inferring the answers you want-much like your party-"

He's cut off by another roll of the eyes and then, to David's surprise, Miliband tilting his own head back, peering at the sky. He watches as Miliband too begins swinging himself a little higher.

After a few moments, David says "Well, no one could blame you for wanting to get out of there on occasion."

"Hilarious-" Ed breaks off as he turns and meets David's eyes. David just smiles and the words hang between them, to be taken as one or both of them wish.

There's a short silence and then, speaking a little too quickly, "We haven't been here in a while. The boyth-I think they-" He trails off.

David turns to look at him but Miliband swings back as he swings forward.

"I suppose it's difficult for them, you know. I mean-they're little."

"Mm." Miliband swings a little higher now. "My father always made-well, he-" David catches a furrow of the brow, a twist of the mouth. "I don't want to be worse" he says quietly and David bites his lip.

"You-" He gropes for words. "You're not worse" he says, rather lamely. Miliband's cheek lifts in a slightly sad smile and David presses on, a little too eagerly. "They adore you. The boys, I mean."

Miliband's expression flickers very slightly, but in the darkness, David can't be certain whether or not he imagined it. "Thanks" is all he says and he tilts his head back, the first touches of moonlight lingering on the badger-like streak in his hair.

"I rather missed my dad-" The words slip out before David can stop himself. He tilts his head back and peers up at the sky.

"At school?" David waits for the remark but Miliband just watches him, head tilting to the side.

"Yes." David tries for a laugh. "I suppose there wasn't much time for this sort of thing, during the term."

His tone is forcefully light but Miliband keeps watching him. David averts his gaze and swings a little higher, resisting the urge to tug at his shirt where it suddenly seems to be chafing at-

He knows it isn't because it was years ago, so he doesn't.

He keeps swinging, but Miliband keeps up with him now, watching him through the dark.

* * *

Ed notices the way Cameron's lips flatten themselves carefully. He notices the whitening of his knuckles on the chain. Ed notices, quickly, and then looks away before he can notice more.

"That's-um." He fumbles for the words a little too awkwardly, but all he can come out with, somewhat pathetically, is "I'm th-sorry."

Cameron's cheek twitches as if he's about to smile or laugh but instead he just says "Thank you, Miliband."

Ed feels himself blush, the colour heating his face, nibbling at his lips. "I-well-" The words snap out a little too quickly, the way they do all too often, and he bites his lip harder, wincing. "No-wait-I didn't-"

It's then that Cameron's shoulders rise and fall suddenly, in what might be a laugh and then he says "Miliband" just once and turns to look at him. Ed looks back, swinging in time now. They look at each other. Cameron isn't smiling, not exactly-but there's something like a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, something softer in his eyes.

"Maybe we're making up for it" Cameron says, with the smallest smile. Ed stares back at him and then hears himself laugh. For a few moments, they both just swing, their legs out in the air. Ed remembers briefly the few times he'd swung as a child, the strange freedom soaring high in his chest, his shoes kicking the sky. (He used to think that was what he was doing. David told him it was stupid.)

They swing and then Cameron says, quietly "You can see the stars now."

Ed squints. He can make out the glimmers of stars overhead, as his swinging slows. "Yeth" he says, and represses a wince as the words come out a little stiffly.

But Cameron just says, that laugh still in his voice as his own swinging slows, "My dad used to show them to me."

Ed glances at him, takes in the tilt of Cameron's head, the shine of his eyes. "Was he into astronomy?"

Cameron laughs a little, quieter. "Not too much. He knew some of the names. But he just used to draw them."

"Draw them?"

Cameron grins. "Not the way-not like that-" He glances at Ed, their swinging almost at a complete stop. "Like this."

He lifts his hand, traces a finger in the air-Ed follows the direction of his hand and manages to make out the stars he's tracing between. Cameron traces the shape a few times until Ed makes out the shape of a square.

Cameron's hand falls and Ed blurts the words out before he can stop himself." I uthed to do that."

Cameron glances at him with the hint of a grin. Ed shrugs. "David used to say it was-" He snaps his mouth shut and looks away. There's a pregnant pause.

Then a hand brushes his own. He looks and sees Cameron's fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Cameron's hand is warm around Ed's. Ed looks down to get a confused impression of Cameron's fingers before Cameron lifts his hand, guiding it up. "Here-"

Ed can't speak for some reason and Cameron's finger lies along the back of Ed's hand, tracing a shape across the sky. Their swings are very close together. Ed's arm brushes Cameron's and Cameron leans closer, lifting Ed's hand higher.

"A little like this-"

Ed's hand shakes a little and Cameron catches it, steadies it. "Here-"

Cameron guides his hand back and forth. "I used to want to do Art" he confides, after a moment, and Ed glances at him. "Really?"

"Mm." Cameron gives him another, smaller grin. "Did it for A Level, originally-" His thumb brushes Ed's wristbone and it's a tiny stripe of sensation that sends a little jolt through Ed.

Cameron traces the shape in the sky, gently. "Could do a Labour rose-"

"Hilariouth-" Ed's voice trembles a little. Cameron doesn't look at him but for a moment, it's almost as though his hand tightens a little around Ed's.

Cameron traces a star shape gently. Ed swallows and then takes hold of Cameron's wrist.

"Here-"

He traces another star shape a little clumsily, between another set of stars. And Cameron lets him, that slight smile still hovering there.

Something about Cameron letting him quickens Ed's pulse and he speaks a little too fast. "An actor."

"Pardon?"

"An actor." Ed's cheeks are a little too warm and he's beginning to regret opening his mouth already. But he keeps hold of Cameron's wrist, tracing another star a little too quickly. "I used to want to be an actor."

Cameron doesn't say anything. Ed feels the heat creep up his cheeks and he draws a little too quickly. "Stupid-" he says. "I mean, given what-"

He stops. It's the closest he's come to mentioning those headlines.

But Cameron's watching him. He can feel, even as he keeps his gaze carefully averted and then Cameron says "Not really."

Ed feels the heat tickle his cheeks again, but he keeps his eyes on the sky. It's a few moments before he realises that he hasn't helped Cameron to trace any more stars. Instead, he's just holding his hand.

He clears his throat quickly. Cameron coughs and Ed lifts his hand a little too quickly, tracing another shape.

"You could try to make your answerth a little more convincing, Prime Minister" he says a little too brightly.

There's a moment of strained silence before Cameron says "Try to infer the correct response, then."

Ed doesn't look at him but he can feel the grin twisting his mouth and he knows without looking that Cameron's smiling too. His heart's thumping a little too fast.

He raises Cameron's hand a little too quickly, his wedding ring glinting in the moonlight, Cameron's fingers fluttering against his for a second, before they break apart, swinging slowly back and forth in the dark, under the stars and Ed vaguely wonders at how strange it is that the same stars Cameron's been drawing out since he was a little boy, all those years ago, are the same ones they're tracing now, and whether their children will do the same thing.

So he swings back and forth under the sky, and pretends he doesn't notice Cameron's hand brushing his under the stars.

* * *

_ Playlist _

_Boxelder-Motion City Soundtrack-"C_ _aught me talking to myself again/One by one, we all go marching in/I hate myself and no-one else/But I lie so well that you'd never tell/If I let you in it would end us both"_

_Father And Mother-Broods\- "T_ _he nights are getting shorter/I don't know where they go/And I am getting older/And it's starting to show...I remember a time when a kiss on the hand was enough/Cause we knew we were free/And we knew what it meant to be loved..I don't want to wake up lonely/I don't want to be just fine/I don't want to keep on hoping..."_

_ Lose It-Oh Wonder-" _ _Blood rush in the hazy glow/My hands, your bones...You gotta give yourself a moment, let your body be/We gotta lose it/We gotta lose it"_

_ Blacking Out The Friction-Death Cab for Cutie-" _ _I don't mind restrictions or if you're blacking out the friction/It's just an escape (it's overrated anyways/The hardest part is yet to come/When you will cross the country alone"_

_ What's It Gonna Be?-Shura-" _ _I don't wanna give you up/I don't wanna let you love somebody else but me/So what's it gonna be/What's it gonna be?...I'm praying you don't see the signs/Praying for you to be mine/If you let me down, let me down slow/If you let me down, let me down slow/And I don't believe in forever/I still wanna give it a try..."_

_Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft-The Carpenters-_ _"And please come in pace we beseech you/(Only of love we will teach you)/Our earth may never survive (So don't come we beg you)/Please interstellar policemen/Won't you give us a sign, give us a sign that we've reached you"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cameron children can be seen on their first few Chequers visits here:https://bit.ly/2WYztIr  
https://bit.ly/2UAynB8  
https://bit.ly/2JuwrDM  
https://bit.ly/2R2bV1s  
Torsten is Torsten Bell and Greg is Greg Beales: https://on.ft.com/3cMvKmM  
Rachel is Rachel Kinnock (daughter of former Labour leader Neil): https://bit.ly/33bapiz  
Alastair's brutal debate rehearsal is genuine, as is Ed's comment that Cameron wouldn't be that cruel:https://bit.ly/39CYkoX  
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/labour-in-crisis-from-the-bacon-sandwich-to-the-ed-stone-8k6rxrxzsfx  
Ed infamously neglected to add his name to Daniel's birth certificate (meaning he wasn't legally declared as his father) and only remembered to do it when Sam was born: https://bit.ly/38IyChz  
https://bit.ly/2TChOV3  
https://bit.ly/3cJOgw1  
https://bit.ly/39BxkpC  
https://bit.ly/3cMvX9y  
Stewart did play Nick in Ed's TV debate rehearsals: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/how-to-win-a-tv-debate-nxc3x5xtw  
David Axelrod was Ed's adviser, having previously worked with Obama, but his wage and position of advising from the US annoyed some on the campaign:https://bit.ly/39DZdxs  
The party David throws at Chequers for Samantha was real, with George, Michael and Helena Bonham Carter did attend (she is a friend of the Camerons):https://bit.ly/2IyebJh  
http://dailym.ai/2xi34lk  
http://dailym.ai/2TRCLdl  
https://bit.ly/39EOjay  
Eliza is the daughter of Allie, one of Sam's best friends: https://bit.ly/2TDiB8k  
Nell is Helena's daughter:https://bit.ly/2wK7cKS  
Miriam did discourage Nick from socialising with colleagues and did run a food blog with her kids:http://dailym.ai/33bALkz  
http://dailym.ai/3397K96  
Nick's London home:https://bit.ly/2R7xIoE  
http://dailym.ai/347TNsD  
Nancy does look strikingly like her mother:https://bit.ly/2W3CQ0l  
You can see Chequers (and its' swimming pool) here:https://goo.gl/images/M3KVY7  
https://goo.gl/images/QUKXQU  
https://goo.gl/images/m644mp  
https://goo.gl/images/M3KVY7  
Tania is a Labour supporter-Clare was Sam's childhood friend, which is how she and Dave met-Emily is Samantha's younger sister:https://bit.ly/333wVKl  
https://bit.ly/2xr2XEj  
Nancy is a Bruno Mars fan:https://bit.ly/3cIVaSk  
Sarah described the Goves and Camerons spending time at Chequers: http://dailym.ai/39E42XA  
William did ask his dad if they'd have the house when Michael was Prime Minister: https://bit.ly/3azsZDA  
George talking about Liberty learning Mandarin:https://bit.ly/2Iyzri8  
https://bit.ly/2VZPIog  
Nancy did object to her dad walking round secondary schools with them:http://dailym.ai/38HbmAc  
https://bit.ly/38DO2DI  
Bea was aware that teachers hated her father:https://bit.ly/3cJjT9j  
David was caught smoking cannabis and nearly expelled from Eton:https://bit.ly/2Q3BxL7  
David, Ed and Nick at the Royal Wedding:https://bit.ly/39c5D5C  
https://bit.ly/2wkLb5x  
https://bit.ly/3dlRztE  
https://bit.ly/2xfvmwU  
https://bit.ly/2xjIQaQ  
https://bit.ly/3aefwRE  
https://bit.ly/2WD23Ps  
https://bit.ly/2xd7TMR  
https://bit.ly/2QEMiDR  
https://bit.ly/2J9XHHA  
https://bit.ly/3dobpVp  
https://bit.ly/2xSNY67  
https://bit.ly/3bm743g  
https://bit.ly/33Fc1BB  
https://bit.ly/2J9XJ2a  
https://bit.ly/33E6tHi  
https://bit.ly/2xTJsEq  
The Downing Street street party:https://bit.ly/2WyX8ir  
https://bit.ly/2U982tQ  
https://bit.ly/2J9t19m  
If you're into that, you can see the whole Royal Wedding here:https://bit.ly/3ab7Tvj  
The Justine mentioned at the party is Justine Greening, a fellow Tory MP:https://bit.ly/3cMAnx8  
Sadiq and Zac were good friends prior to their 2016 mayoral bids against each other:https://bit.ly/2TEBwPX  
Sadiq is a good friend of Ed, running his leadership campaign:https://bit.ly/3cNw6tg  
Ed wanted to be an actor as a child:https://bit.ly/2ICFBh2  
The playground David and Ed visit is Parliament Hill playground, which can be seen here:https://goo.gl/images/Ck6Ozg  
https://goo.gl/images/3HbjYt


	12. Hypothetical Hassles, Preparatory Pondering And The Subtle Art Of Not-Wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In which the Loch Ness Monster is not in London and Lego is a suitable material for house-building."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total and utter fiction. Yes, real-life events are used as a backdrop around it, but the story is completely and utterly fictional and is not intended to be in any way a truthful depiction of anything or anyone. It is not intended to be a factual depiction of anyone personally or of any events. It is complete fiction.  
If you want to ask me anything about the fic, tell me anything you like about it or just chat, you can find me at my [Tumblr](https://hallowgirl.tumblr.com/ask). If you want to read any of the articles and can't, just let me know.  
Reference quotes in this chapter refer to George being a witty mischief-maker, David and Nick R's conversation, David's holiday with the Gettys, and David's boarding school experiences.  
And that's the end of Part One. Part Two will soon follow.  
Leave comments, kudos, etc.

_In a group that was, according to one of its' members, a **"pathetically straight bunch",** Osborne stood out for his subversive sense of fun. Indeed, he became notorious among his group of friends as a provocateur. On his first day in the sixth form, he concocted a rumour that someone in the same year had got married over the summer. The entire school was convulsed by speculation over the identity of the (mythical) newly-wed **"within days, if not hours",** marvels a classmate of Osborne's. "**It was absolute genius." S**ometimes his playfulness crossed the line of good taste. If a teacher was palpably out of his depth, Osborne would lead the class in assailing him with questions he could not answer. **"It was an unpleasant thing to do, and classic Pauline behaviour"** admits one of those who took part in these pitiless ambushes. The baser side of Osborne's mischievousness was an ability to **"put people down"** and "**find their area of weakness."** Time has not sapped Osborne of either his wit or waspishness. There is a reason why successive Tory leaders have relied on him to coach them for Prime Minister's Questions, and why he is generally thought more compelling private company than David Cameron. "**He's got funny bones",** was the verdict of the comedian James Corden after an encounter with the Chancellor in 2011. Photographs fail to capture the way Osborne's eyes widen and coruscate when he has mischief on the mind. Along with his capacity for cold calculation, playfulness is perhaps his distinguishing trait, and it was on show in his teenage years. **"When he walked into a room, you'd know something fun was going to happen"** says Edgecliffe-Johnson. Another friend is even starker: "**Boys would talk about him more than anyone else."** Notoriety, though, is not popularity.-George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_Osborne helped to supply Hague's sole source of relief, but it ended up doing more for his own career than his boss's. Prime Minister's Questions was the making of the young adviser. The Tory leader consistently wounded Blair in their Wednesday showdowns across the despatch box. Much of this was down to his own gifts as a parliamentarian but the coaching he received from his aides was indispensable to his performances. (Danny) Finkelstein furnished the jokes, CRD's Haldenby took notes, and Duncan would provide an MP's perspective, but it was Osborne who really sparkled. He parsed dense arguments into one-liners. He could intuit which topics would play best in the Commons. He was also an eerily good mimic, able to not only emulate Blair's voice and manner but to accurately predict his answer to any question. Hague would use this insight to draw up McKinsey-style** "decision trees"** that set out his question, then a menu of likely prime ministerial responses, and then the best follow-up question to each of those responses. Such fastidious preparation, allied to the force and fluency of Hague's delivery, kept him on top of Blair in the chamber. This may have girded his leadership by denying his enemies any momentum. Backbenchers would arrive in Westminster each week grumbling about his shortcomings and go back to their constituencies on Thursday roused by his latest besting of Blair._

_That was the limit of any advantage that Hague accrued from PMQs. The few voters who tuned in found his pat point-scoring more becoming of a student debater than a potential Prime Minister, and Blair learned to brush him off. For Osborne, though, it was transformative. Word percolated about his political wiles. **"You kept being told about this guy"** remembers Keith Simpson, a frontbencher at the time and now Hague's Parliamentary Private Secretary. He piqued the interest of journalists, received invitations to exclusive Whips Office parties attended by Major and other grandees, and socialised with Hague and his wife Ffion. **"He used his position to build his network"** says a colleague who admired his gifts as an operator. **"He can walk into a room and immediately identify who the three most important people are, and how to talk to them."**_

_Every Tory leader since Hague has called on Osborne's counsel before PMQs. Compared to summoning great thoughts about policy, this seems like a frivolous service to render, but the first step to political advancement is simply being in the room. Week after week, for hours at a time, Osborne was eyeball to eyeball with Hague, and then Duncan Smith, and then Howard. Few frontbenchers, let alone advisers, had such intimate opportunities to impress. **"He made his career at PMQs" s**ays a friend. Osborne's deft mimicry in these PMQs sessions offered glimpses of a much deeper personal quality. He is a perspicacious analyst of people, including himself. He studies humans as assiduously as more conventional politicians study ideas. The bookshelves in Osborne's Tatton home are dominated by biographies, not works of political theory or economics. The second of his laws of political success, as cheekily itemised by Hague at his fortieth birthday party, is to get inside an opponent's mind and soul. Only by grasping their motives, insecurities, impulses and habits of thought can their future motives be foreseen. It is a pugilistic take on empathy, and would later equip Osborne to rattle Gordon Brown in a way no other shadow Chancellor had managed...But there was more to Osborne's success than policy. His predecessors had never evolved a way of dealing with Brown's personal force. He bludgeoned them in the Commons with rhetoric and a raw presence that sometimes radiated actual physical menace. When even Michael Howard confesses to being cowed, a heavyweight is at work. Osborne avoided their fate by deploying his ability to analyse other personalities and identify their vulnerabilities. He worked out that Brown found weakness provocative, angered easily, and lacked courage beneath all that surface pugnacity. Osborne's approach was to evince absolutely no sign of fear, even when he felt it, and then match Brown's aggression...George Osborne: The Austerity Chancellor, Janan Ganesh_

_George Osborne, who also became an MP in 2001, in the same intake as David, becomes Shadow Chancellor, and asks me to come and work for him...I've known George a long time-since my first job in the Conservative Research Department, in fact...A week after I accept the job with George, David rings. **"I've decided to stand-will you come and help me run the campaign?"**_

_**"What sort of timing?"** I ask._

_**"Tomorrow"** he says. I speak to George, who agrees I should help David, and then come and work for him afterwards. It has been an honour to work for Michael Howard, and I feel disloyal as I pack up my things. And there is awkwardness too, as I know I would not have been David's first choice. Rachel Whetstone had been Michael's political secretary, and she and David were firm political friends from their time together in the CRD. Had they not fallen out, it would most certainly be her, not me, running his campaign. I move into David's office and the leadership campaign begins. On my first day, there is only me and David, with George next door and Steve Hilton texting random thoughts. I feel pleased to still be working in Westminster but I have no idea what running a leadership election entails. Perhaps that's why I have no premonition that it is about to take over my life-and not just for a summer, but for the next decade. I sit in blissful naivety, innocent of the looming storm.-The Gatekeeper, Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_Quietly spoken, rarely seen in public and one of relatively few women in the inner circle, (Kate) Fall was extremely important to Cameron's daily life and one of the people whose counsel he trusted. She was almost invariably at his side, briefing him and steering him away from errors of judgement. When her marriage to the property developer Ralph Ward-Jackson ended in late 2010, her colleagues were impressed by her dignity and ability to keep going. She was also wrongly assumed to be the model for (or even the author of) Tamzin Lightwater, the Spectator's diarist sending suspiciously well-informed despatches from Conservative HQ.-In It Together: The Inside Story Of The Coalition Government, Matthew D'Ancona_

_I hammer on the big black door and the policeman opens it to let me in. There is no side entrance for staff. I make my way down the corridor. I have no idea where I am supposed to be sitting. A tip from George: just find yourself a desk as close to David as you can. Then everything will be fine. Proximity is power. I walk into the room next to the den, which we have decided to make our private office. There is an empty desk just outside the door to David's office. Someone has got to sit here, so it might as well be me. I sit down and turn on the computer and am amazed to find a few emails addressed to me at my new email address, which is so long and complicated I cannot believe I will ever remember it. A few hours later George finds me there. **"Well, you can't get closer than that"** he says approvingly. And it is here that I sit for just over six years.-The Gatekeeper: Life At The Heart Of No. 10, Kate Fall_

_Also calming were the people who were on the street but out of shot: my team. There was Ed Llewellyn and his deputy, Kate Fall, who had worked with me at the party in our twenties and joined me when I was an MP campaigning for the leadership. I valued her emotional intelligence and judgement more than anyone's...So many of the team that worked together at the CRD all those years ago ended up, twenty years later, in prominent positions in my government, including Ed Llewellyn, Kate Fall, Steve Hilton, Ed Vaizey and Jonathan Caine. All of us worked for Thatcher and then John Major. The late 1980s and early 1990s shaped us and our thinking. First we were labelled **"the brat pack"** because of our age. Later the **"Notting Hill set"**, even though most of us didn't live there. Inasmuch as there was a clique-and I would argue that every successful politician needs a team-it was a CRD clique...So much for **"Cameron's chumocracy"** that I read so much about in the papers. The vast majority of my political team had either come to me as researchers in opposition, or arrived over the years via job interviews, CCHQ referrals, or because I'd poached them from think-tanks, newspapers and broadcasters. Ed and Kate may have been close friends, but they had only become so because we'd worked together over the years. They were both more than qualified for their jobs, and I resented any implication that they weren't there on merit. So much, too, for the **"old boys network"** I was also accused of running. By 2015, 44 per cent of my special advisers were women. That was not the result of positive discrimination, just an open attitude towards picking the best woman (or man) for the job.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_I've been asked round for a cuppa and an end-of-year chat with the PM. As I am escorted into the private office, I see him sprawled out in a chair in his tracksuit. He's just back from a run, he explains. Wandering through to the den, he offers to make me a Nespresso, tells me he's in a very good mood and invites me to take a seat on the sofa. The point that he wants to get across is that things are remarkably good for the Tories going into an election year, given where they could have been a few weeks back....The message is right, he tells me (stick with the long-term economic plan and choose the best leaders); the organization is right (Lynton Crosby is in charge and the election warchest is brimming._

_But, I ask him, do you really want to win? After all, your best hope is a minority government which will have to deliver huge spending cuts and a major renegotiation of Britain's relationship with the EU, and which will be vulnerable to constant rebellions by dozens of Tory Eurosceptics who suspect you're about to betray them over Europe. The PM smiles, as if to say **"We'll worry about that once the small matter of getting re-elected is behind us."** It's clear that one way he thinks he'll do that is by scuppering the TV election debates.-"Wednesday 17th December 2014" Election Notebook: The Inside Story Of The Battle Over Britain's Future And My Personal Battle To Report It, Nick Robinson_

_ David Cameron is looking to Lynton Crosby, the Australian consultant who masterminded John Howard's successful campaigns in Australia and Boris Johnson's two triumphant runs at the London mayoralty. Lynton believes in tough love. Before the election he sat down right in front of Cameron and told him "**I'm not going to be sharing our polling data with you. Because if it's good you won't be able to resist telling someone. And then it will get out. And we don't want people thinking we're cruising to victory. We need them to think every vote counts."-**One Minute To Ten: Cameron, Clegg And Miliband: Three Men, One Ambition, And The Price Of Power, Dan Hodges_

_There were few luxuries at Heatherdown. The environment was tough. These were the days of corporal punishment, as Cameron Mi learned to his cost...Edwards admitted he was **"not wholly opposed"** to administering the odd thwack, though he claimed it happened rarely, and said he never used a cane. His tool of choice appears to have been a hairbrush, the sting of which Cameron experienced "a couple of times" for various misdemeanours, including once stealing strawberries from Mrs Edwards's garden. Speaking about such punishments (Rhydian) Llewellyn said **"The worst thing about it was that it was never done on the spot. It was scheduled for after breakfast the following morning. I was a pupil at the same time as Prince Andrew and he was beaten regularly. But then he was fairly bumptious."** Daniel Wiggin, another former pupil, has spoken of being beaten simply for **"taking my teddy for a walk in the corridor after lights out."**_

_Far darker forces may have been at work. One of Cameron's former masters was recently exposed as a paedophile...who appears in a formal school photograph with Cameron. (It is not known whether any former pupils have ever complained about his behaviour.).. Though there are no reports of abuse having taken place at Heatherdown, some former staff feel, in retrospect, that aspects of the regime were unduly harsh for very young children. "**Things have changed so much...In those days, corporal punishment wasn't frowned upon, and the parents were always in agreement. The view was that if there had been a misdemeanour, it was their fault and they had to be punished for it. When I became a mother, I realised I was probably quite hard, quite tough, on children who were really quite small. The thought of sending my own child away to school was horrendous."-**Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_Today, very few children are sent to boarding school so young..He (David Cameron) says that it was an **"absurdly young age" t**o be required to leave home. It was some comfort to him that his elder brother Alex was already a pupil...But Christine Calder, the school matron, said (it) was no easy place to start:**"The pupils only had thin blankets, the ceilings were full height with lino on the floors. The huge sash windows had icicles on the inside in the depths of winter...I must admit looking back now it was an unbearably young age for them to start."-**Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott and James Hanning_

_When I tell my children today about the schools I went to, and some of the things that happened in them, it all seems incredibly old-fashioned. For starters, going away to boarding school aged just seven now seems brutal and bizarre. Of course I was homesick at first. I remember having one of those plastic cubes with pictures of my family on that I would look at in bed at night with tears welling up in my eyes._

_Dad, as ever, was pretty phlegmatic, but Mum was torn, and later admitted that she only coped after waving me goodbye on the first day by taking a large dose of Valium. Dad would have approved-he was a famous self-medicator, and always had a squash bag full of various pills and potions. He even gave Samantha two Valium the night before our wedding, and advised her to "**Wash one down with a large gin and tonic-and if you don't pass out, have the other one tomorrow."** She happily followed his advice, and sailed serenely through the whole thing._

_To say that Heatherdown was antiquated would be underplaying it. At bath time we had to line up naked in front of a row of Victorian metal baths and wait for the headmaster, James Edwards, to blow a whistle before we got in. Another whistle would indicate that it was time to get out. In between, we would have to cope with clouds of smoke from the omnipresent foul-smelling pipe clenched between his teeth. The school was tiny-fewer than a hundred boys-and the gene pool of those attending was even smaller. One contemporary of mine recalls that his "**dorm captains"** (yes, we had those too) were the Duke of Bedford and Prince Edward._

_The food was spartan. I lost a stone in weight during a single term. There was one meal that consisted of curry, rice-and maggots. In the school grounds were woods and a lake where we could play unsupervised in green boilersuits-it is something of a miracle that no one drowned. Punishments were also old-fashioned. They included frequent beatings with the smooth side of an ebony clothes brush. If I shut my eyes I can see myself standing outside the headmaster's study, hearing the ticking of the grandfather's clock and the thwack of the clothes brush on the backside of the boy in front of me, and feeling the dread of what was to follow.-For The Record, David Cameron_

_At the age of eleven, Cameron was treated to a trip that must have put all previous and subsequent school holidays in the shade. It kicked off by Concorde, spanned several American states, and included a helicopter flight. He was one of four boys invited on the all-expenses-paid jaunt to celebrate the birthday of their classmate Peter Getty. Accompanied by Rhidian Llewellyn, who was just ten years older than the boys and was a young master at the school, they spent four days in Washington, sightseeing by air-conditioned convertible, dining in fine restaurants and generally larking about, before flying on to New York, where they stayed in a luxury hotel and explored the Empire State Building and World Trade Center. Llewellyn, who had been a pupil at Heatherdown, recalls: "**I was eighteen and had to vaguely try and control this group of five ten-and-eleven-year-old boys! Fortunately the Getty boy had a French nanny, so between us we just about coped with them."**_

_In an interview published in 2007, Llewellyn described how, aboard Concorde, the youngsters tucked into caviar, salmon and beef borderlaise. He **"turned round to check that all was well and that his charges were more or less behaving themselves"** (and) was met with the sight, a few rows behind, of David Cameron, eleven years old, cheerily raising a glass of Dom Perignon '69 and exclaiming **"Good health, sir!"** After New York, the boys went to Disneyworld in Florida and the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral, before heading to Las Vegas, where it was too hot for sightseeing. Instead, they hung around the hotel swimming pool and played the slot machines. The tour concluded with three days at the Grand Canyon and a trip to Hollywood, followed by a week of rest and relaxation at the Getty family home at Pacific Heights, overlooking San Francisco's Golden Gates.-Call Me Dave: The Unauthorised Biography Of David Cameron, Michael Ashcroft and Isabel Oakeshott_

_Rhidian Llewellyn was dutifully raking a long-jump sandpit on the school's sports day in 1978 when he was approached by Mrs Gordon Getty. She was making plans for her son Peter (grandson of the oil billionaire John Paul Getty) to invite four classmates to the USA, and would he like to accompany the boys, by way of looking after them? As the young teacher was barely out of school himself and had never flown, he jumped at the opportunity. The trip turned out to be even more lavish than he can have dreamed. One of the lucky four friends of Getty was David Cameron...At lunchtime on 21 July 1978, two days after the end of term, Getty, Cameron, Simon Andreae (brother of Giles), Peter Romilly and Fergus Wylie, accompanied by their eighteen-year-old minder Rhidian Llewellyn, boarded BOAC Flight 579 (Concorde, as it happened) at Heathrow to fly to Washington DC. As the excited boys tucked into their caviar, salmon and beef bordelaise, Llewellyn turned round to check that all was well and that his charges were more or less behaving themselves. He was met with the sight, a few rows behind, of David Cameron, eleven years old, cheerily raising a glass of Dom Perignon '69 and exclaiming "**Good health, sir!" "Sir",** only seven years older than Cameron, was so disbelieving of his own good fortune that he felt it would be churlish to challenge Cameron's cheek. This willingness to nudge jovially at the barriers of authority (rather than to throw stones at them, for example) came from Ian Cameron and generally seems to have been carried off disarmingly...Washington was going through a heatwave that summer, but no matter. For four days the excited boys from the UK were conveyed to all the capital's most celebrated sights in an air-conditioned Lincoln Convertible. It also took them to a French restaurant where they enjoyed the spectacle of roller-skating waiters. From Washington they went on to a further three days of sight-seeing in New York, where they were based at the Hotel Pierre. The itinerary included the Empire State Building and the World Trade Centre. They then flew on to Disneyworld in Florida, roller-coasters and all, and to celebrate Peter Getty's twelfth birthday, to the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. Next it was Las Vegas, where the temperatures reached 120f, which somewhat curtailed the sight-seeing, restricting them to hanging round the MGM Grand Hotel's pool and investigating the hotel's gaming devices. The tour was rounded off with three days at the Grand Canyon, including a helicopter flight, followed by a trip to Hollywood. They regained their bearings with a week based at Pacific Heights, the Getty home overlooking the San Francisco's Golden Gates and Alcatraz.-Cameron: Practically A Conservative, Francis Elliott & James Hanning_

* * *

_If that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions."-Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen_

_She looked out across the vast lawn at Callum and Sephy. Her son and her employer's daughter. They were good friends playing together. Real good friends. No barriers. No boundaries. Not yet, anyway. - Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman_

_"There's a line that you cross when forming relationships with people. Crossing this line occurs when you transfer from knowing someone to knowing about someone."-Solitaire, Alice Oseman_

_"And they laughed so that in the end they were making as much noise as if they had been two ordinary healthy natural ten-year-old creatures-instead of a hard, little, unloving girl and a sickly boy who believed he was going to die."-The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett_

* * *

"It's true, though, you can't deny it."

"I didn't try to deny it-"

"If you're Prime Minister, you'll have to make cuts. Anyone will. And then you'll understand why we had to do it."

"I'm not a _child,_ Cameron-and thanks for the admission you think I'll be Prime Minister-"

"I didn't say I _think_ you'll be Prime Minister. I said_ if_ you're Prime Minister. I could say _if_ about a lot of things. I could say _if _we encounter the Loch Ness Monster-"

"We're in _London-"_

"Hypothetically-"

"If we encounter _the Loch Ness Monster-"_

"Well, it's about the same probability, really-"

"Did someone tell you you were funny, once?"

"Yes, you. On countless occasions."

"When have I _once_ told you you were amusing?"

"Well, you can never seem to stop laughing."

".....That's out of pity."

"Of course it is, Miliband. And we were just hit by a _little_ dent in the economy in 2008-"

"Oh, shut up-"

"Fantastic practice for PMQs, this-"

_"Shut up, Cameron."_

* * *

"...him crowing everything is _fixed-"_

David's thankful it's only two days until the Christmas recess and not just because this PMQs session has succeeded in stabbing the word _irritating_ through Miliband's name in his thoughts once again. So much for the Parliament Hill playground.

"It may be fixed for his Christmas card list-" Miliband's gesturing a little too wildly now, his eyes wide with that _look_-that self-righteous look that never fails to positively _ram _David's back up-

"But it isn't fixed-for far many-far too many people in this country-"

"Bit rich" George mutters, an inch away from David's ear. "Isn't he on your Christmas card list?"

"Now-now he didn't really answer the question about VAT, did he?"

David snorts and gives George a dig in the side before Miliband can start whining about how _The Prime Minister has no compassion, The Prime Minister finds this amusing, Why is the Prime Minister so cold-hearted, _in the same bleating tone, as though David's some kind of monster constructed solely out of avarice and the broken dreams of children.

He glances automatically at Nick, even as he reaches for the booklet in front of him-Miliband's question washes over him, the way he's learnt to let them do.

A brief smile appears at the corner of Nick's mouth. David watches a second longer than he should, and then Nick glances at him.

He smiles a little wider but that's all and his eyes skate over George like he's just an empty seat. David turns back to Miliband's question and tells himself he just wants to pay attention.

"Will he now categorically rule out a rise in VAT?" Miliband gives him the wide-eyed look that makes David simultaneously want to laugh and hit him.

They were sitting on swings last night, he can't quite forget, even as he stands up and leans on the dispatch box.

"We don't need to raise taxes because we've _got_ a plan-" He weathers the expected tidal wave of noise from the benches opposite and keeps his eyes away from Miliband's. He's learnt to do that on the days he's finding Miliband especially irritating.

It occurs to him that it could probably be unhealthy to go from sitting on a swing with someone one night to wanting to spit their own words back at them the next day.

"We've got a plan for efficiencies in spending-"

But then it's politics. One hardly goes into it to be healthy.

"It's the party opposite that doesn't have a plan-" He doesn't let his gaze wander near Miliband. He doesn't let his mind wander back to the smile Miliband gave him last night-"What are you _doing_, Cameron?"

"He asks what has changed for real people over the last year-I'll tell him-"

Lynton's words echo in his ears. _The economy. The economy breakdown-it was them. It was fucking them. _The light glinting sharply off his glasses. _Don't let anyone forget it._

"50, 000 people have a job this year who-didn't have a job last year-"

The cheers make it easy to ride the wave of facts that spills out of his mouth easily, drowning Miliband's question under them.

"You'd think the Labour Party would welcome those things-"

Because they don't-Miliband might say David dodges questions, that they dodge the concerns, that they, that they, that they-

But Labour don't want to see themselves do the same thing. Then, they're happy to creep back, huddle under a blanket, and pat each other's shoulders reassuring each other of their morality. The whining edge of Miliband's questions grate at David's nerves and so he goes on, a little louder.

"But, Mr. Speaker-it_ is_ Christmas-we should _all _be entering the Christmas spirit-and I have to say, Mr. Speaker, I've had _my _Christmas present a little bit early-"

The cheers drown out his next words. He doesn't mind. It's easier to just look at Miliband now, document clutched between his fingers like a weapon.

"This is the document that has been sent to every Labour MP-and in case they haven't had the time to read it-" He spares Miliband the briefest of glances under his eyelashes. It's a confused impression of Miliband's eyebrow arching, but it brings back the words he spun out earlier, his voice high and irritating-

"Let me advise them, if they go to page 16-" A glance at Miliband now, the jeers rising from the Labour benches, a look snatched quickly, triumphantly. "Be _patient-"_

He deliberately waits a little longer, letting the fury on the other side of the House build, before he continues. "If they go to page 16, it's there in black and white-" He yanks it up. "Managing the economy, it says-"

_Don't let anyone forget it._

"The Conservatives-"

_Hammer it home._

"Have a 17 point lead! Thank you!"

A last glance at Miliband and he's sitting down again, cheers lifting his words higher and hopefully pushing them black and bold into a headline.

Nick still isn't laughing. David chooses not to look at him.

Miliband's yelling something now about "to reflect on_ his_ year" and David knows then he can relax. If Miliband's reduced to grasping at events in the past year, then David's won.

"And he gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "conviction politician" when Andy Coulson went to jail-"

_"Coulthon"_ George mutters right on cue, and David convulses in laughter, the memory smacking him instead of George yesterday in PMQs prep, waving a finger around wildly, his voice whined through his nose in an exaggeration of Miliband's nasal speech- _"Mth-r Th-speaker, I need the Prime Minithter to thpethify-"_

Which is probably George's intention and one David's grateful for.

"He's given up on Compassionate Conservatism-" David can't stop laughing, even now that George has resumed the blank, almost glazed stare he's mastered wearing at PMQs.

"They've been exposed for who they _really are-"_ Miliband's voice is higher, more wavering, and David feels a grim stab of satisfaction at the indignation rearing its' head there.

"Their plan for the 2020s is to go back to the 1930s-" Miliband's finger stabs down and the sight catches David's eye.

"It isn't about balancing the books, it's about slashing the state-" Miliband's leaning further over the dispatch box, the badger-like patch in his hair catching the light.

(He sees Miliband's finger tracing the sky, his own hand caught around Miliband's wrist.)

(His hand was softer than David expected and his fingers were long and holding on was easy because it was warm-)

"And in just four months' time-" Miliband's leaning forward even further now, as if that might make his words stronger. "That_ is_ the election choice."

It's too easy to answer. Too easy to ride the waves_-unemployment down, inflation down, economy growing faster, _spilling out like a nursery rhyme.

It's too easy and that look of Miliband's is what sends the words jabbing sharper and cold out of David's chest into the room.

"I have to say, Mr. Speaker, I almost feel_ sorry _for Labour MPs-" He lets his gaze sweep round, his fingers striking the words out one by one.

"They can't talk about the deficit, because it's _fallen-"_

Miliband's watching him, too bloody close, it feels like-

"They can't talk about _growth _because it's _rising-"_

Miliband's hand, wrapping a little clumsily around his own.

"They can't talk about_ jobs_, because we're increasing them-"

_They've been exposed for who they really are-_

The next words stab harder. "They can't talk about _immigration_ because they've been told _not_ to talk about immigration-"

The laughter breaks out. David turns away, his heart pounding.

The words are tossed out, a little casually. "They can't talk about their_ leader _because _he's _a complete waste of space-"

He doesn't look at Miliband.

William laughs. Theresa smiles a little. He hears the _"Ooh"_ rise behind him, predictable as a classroom. George laughs but his eyes have widened a little and they stay that way.

David still doesn't look at Miliband.

(Miliband's grin, swinging next to him in the dark.)

"No wonder this year-" The words are almost shouted, rounded with the laughter that will be a punchline in itself. "For Labour MPs, it's a _silent night!"_

The cheers break out as he sinks down, the laughter leaving him a little breathless, chest aching. He gives George a nudge, keeps his eyes on his papers. He doesn't look up.

He doesn't look across the chamber once.

* * *

Ed bites his lip when he hears the words "Only Ed's smiling!" but he keeps his head tilted to the side, even as Cameron avoids his gaze, peering over his glasses at a piece of paper.

"He's laughing-the rest of them look _sad!"_

"Look behind you, Ed-"

Ed carefully avoids taking in the Tory front bench, and is in fact rather grateful that he's smiling. In fact, smiling seems rather the safer option right now.

He'd tensed when Cameron's eyes had met his during the question on benefit cuts, but all Cameron had said was "As I was discussing-calmly-with the Leader of the Opposition earlier-" and Ed had quickly dropped his own gaze.

It had made it easier when Cameron had said a few moments later "I imagine they're trying _not _to focus on leadership qualities-"

It had made it harder when Cameron had answered a question on climate change-

(and that always meant he could see Cameron again as he had back in 2009, discussing this act together, the Conservative, Eton-educated, too-polished Leader of the Opposition he'd been then, who'd shaken Ed's hand with a tilt of the head and a grin that had left Ed simultaneously a little taken aback and strangely riled, especially when Cameron had tilted his head and looked amused whenever Ed had tried to point out something the Conservatives needed to brush up on, because they were meant to be working _together-)_

(it had stuck in his head, as had some of Cameron's more teasing little lines, and it had left him a strange mixture of annoyed and amused whenever he thought of Cameron for days afterwards)

-and Cameron had said, voice louder, eyes meeting Ed's across the chamber, "I think the Act we've got in place now is delivering."

He's starting to wonder if everything makes it harder these days-

(_Because he's a complete waste of space_, is louder and louder and louder in his head-)

But then Baldry is speaking and when he says "Can I commend my Right Honourable Friend to some works from Karl Marx?", Cameron's eyes immediately flicker to Ed's over his glasses, that grin peeking out again.

Baldry goes on with the question, to do with Europe and Russia and democracy, and then Cameron's standing up, a grin playing around his mouth.

"Well, I-I very much agree with my Honourable Friend-"

Ed tilts his head, watching Cameron and finding himself noticing quickly the lean of Cameron's body on the dispatch box.

"I-I perhaps haven't spent as much of my time studying Marx as he has-" Cameron looks up from under his eyelashes. He gives Ed a grin. "Or as perhaps the Leader of the Opposition has-"

Ed feels his face split in an answering grin even as Cameron finishes his answer, unable to help it even as Cameron says "I don't know what-um-goes on in Camden these days-"

Ed bites his lip as Cameron goes on with the answer, because grinning is one thing; he does not need to be seen sniggering like a school child at Cameron's answers.

To help himself, he sweeps his gaze round to the frontbench. This is a mistake, as while most of his Shadow Cabinet are wearing various expressions of reluctant amusement, Balls is watching Cameron with narrowed eyes and immediately Ed is brought back to that morning.

_What the hell were you doing-_

_This is fucking naive even for you-_

_It was a fucking party-_

_Yeah, the Labour fucking party and he's a fucking Tory-_

Bercow's voice brings Ed out of his reverie to find the next question being asked and Cameron's gaze-

Cameron's gaze resting on him-

It's only then that Ed becomes aware that his face is burning and his cheeks are aching with what he realises must be a ridiculous grin.

Cameron's eyes are still on his and Ed looks away, an odd squirming sensation in his chest, that isn't unpleasant at all.

He looks back as Bercow calls the next MP and Cameron's still watching him. There's a grin still hovering at his mouth and Ed can't help but return it, even as he's conscious of Balls' gaze, still resting on him.

* * *

It's after PMQs that Ed heads for Cameron before he can disappear to his usual team briefing and it's only when he reaches him that he realises Cameron has turned towards him automatically, and that Baldry's talking at his side.

Ed shakes his head, indicating for Baldry to finish whatever he was saying but Baldry's already beaming, as is Osborne.

"Of course-given the amount of time he's been spending with someone who might find the works of Marx rather more insightful than others-"

Ed feels the grin creep back to his mouth and quickly ducks his head

(though it's better than _He's a complete waste of space)_

"Though maybe Marx isn't a frequently discussed topic at Christmas parties, though if either of you would care to enlighten me-"

George snorts with laughter. Ed keeps the smile hovering at his mouth because for some reason he can't quite bring himself to look at Cameron.

"Well-" Cameron's eyes are a little brighter than usual. "I think my Leader of the Opposition and I have plenty of topics of conversation-"

Ed's heart has picked up for some reason, and he still can't quite meet Cameron's gaze.

"But if he wants to add Marx to the catalogue, he'd be very welcome-"

Baldry laughs and claps Cameron on the arm. With a nod at Ed, he tugs at Osborne's arm, tilting his head for a quick word.

Cameron and Ed are left, in amongst a crowd of people, temporarily alone. Cameron's eyes are dancing, his mouth twitching in a grin.

"Though I'm sure" he says a little more quietly, so that only Ed can hear. "Should my own knowledge prove in any way lacking-he'd be more than happy to enlighten me."

The words are only a little quieter than usual, but something about them makes Ed's breath catch in his throat. Cameron blinks, as if a little surprised at himself, but he doesn't look away.

It's only when a few moments have passed that Ed realises that neither of them has spoken or looked away.

He bites his lip. Cameron blinks again and they both look away a little quickly.

"I-" Ed laughs, a little shakily. "I wasn't aware our discussion earlier was your definition of "calmly", Cameron-"

"Well, then, what you're not aware of might fill several books-"

But Cameron's voice is softer and something about that sends a swooping sensation through Ed's stomach.

_(He's a complete waste of space-)_

Cameron gives him a small smile. Ed's heart quickens. He's not sure if he likes it or not.

* * *

"Well, then, what you're not aware of might fill several books-"

Miliband's eyebrows arch. "Is that better than you, Prime Minister?"

David feels himself grin. "A website. An Internet."

"Shut up-" The laughter breaks out of Miliband's throat and he looks almost surprised, his eyes widening a little at himself.

David just grins at him and when the laughter quietens, Miliband grins uncertainly back. David waits for one of them to say something.

Neither of them does and David's about to open his mouth, but something stops him. Miliband's eyes are bright. Something about his smile is bigger than usual-almost goofy. His cheeks are flushed.

David steps closer to him without really being sure why and he sees Miliband's eyes widen a little, when he feels a tap on his shoulder and looks round to see Chris at his side.

"The Speaker would like to see you, Prime Minister" he says with a grin and then a nod at Ed. "Lucky to run into you, Mr. Miliband-"

"Ed" says Miliband automatically and David feels a stab of something-he isn't sure what. Something that aches a little. That makes him smile.

He blinks. "Sorry?"

Chris glances between them and for a moment, David thinks he sees a grin hover at his mouth. But then he says "The Speaker would like to see you. Mr. Miliband too, I believe."

* * *

David has always tried to like Bercow. Sometimes, he's succeeded.

Now, he's coming a little closer to succeeding. Though not much.

"Well-" Bercow glances between them, making David feel annoyingly like a schoolboy. "Things have been rather better the last few weeks."

David can't help but glance at Miliband then, because to his knowledge, the last few PMQs have not been entirely "civil".

"Oh, I don't mean at PMQs" Bercow tells them, destroying David's vague hope that Bercow might have finally snapped and they could get rid of him.

"I know enough not to expect miracles there" Bercow adds with a grin at Ed. Ed returns the smile and David feels a sharp jab of annoyance or something like it.

_Bercow's Labour wife_ mutters the voice in the back of his head before David can quieten it.

But it is rather irking.

"But some of the outside work-that negates the effect" Bercow goes on and David listens, that annoyance niggling at the back of his brain.

* * *

"Doesn't he annoy you?" he mutters to Miliband, a few minutes later, as they both make their way down the corridor.

"John? Not particularly." Ed glances at him, a flicker of confusion dawning in his eyes.

David looks away and thinks quickly of George rolling his eyes after the last time he was reprimanded by Bercow ("Can't we just get rid of him?" he'd muttered to David afterwards. "He's small enough, he could just sink down in that throne of his and never be seen again.")

"Next Christmas, we should get him a cane" David mutters and it might be his imagination but a blush seems to darken Miliband's cheeks for a moment.

Next Christmas-and then David remembers.

There's very few "Nexts" now. Apart from next May.

They stop at the end of the corridor, both of them glancing at the other.

"You got our Christmas card?"

"Yes." Miliband gives him a smile and then says "Did you get-"

David debates whether or not to lie. But Miliband's looking at him, eyes wide and dark, and he settles for "It must be on my desk, I haven't got it yet."

Miliband frowns. "We sent them all out last week."

David blinks. "Oh. Really? We must have-"

Miliband chews his lip. "Oh. Sorry, I-must have-it must be on my desk or something, I'll give it to you, if you-"

David hates having to refuse more than he should.

"I've got-um. An interview. With Robinson, as it happens."

"Oh-of course, we had one last month-"

David notes that they've still got to scour that for anything they can use to hammer Labour. He tries for a grin. "Probably going through my office right now-"

"Th-suggesting there's something to be found there, Prime Minister-"

David beams at him. "Of course. Plans to privatise the NHS, top drawer-"

"Hilarious." Miliband's voice is a little quieter than usual and he glances quickly at David, then away. "What?"

Miliband opens his mouth and then shakes his head "Nothing. Just-"

David watches him, taking in the flutter of Miliband's eyelashes. He catches himself watching a second longer than he needs to and frowns.

"I can give it to you later" Miliband says a little too quickly. "After the interview-"

"Yeah. I mean-yes. That would be-"

He doesn't know why he feels so flummoxed about getting a card.

Miliband nods, his own cheeks rather flushed, and then says "Well-I-I'd best be-"

"Oh. Oh yes, of course-"

"I'll find you-"

"Yes. Yes, that would be-"

"You looked nice on your card."

"I'll-what?"

Ed's blushing. David notices this in a vague, distracted way because that's the only way he can afford to let himself notice it. It's something that sends colour to his own cheeks for some reason.

"You-I mean-you and Sam. Looked-very nice. On your card."

Ed's eyes flicker away. David stares at him but when Ed looks back at him, finds he can't quite meet his gaze, either.

"Oh. Well." He swallows. "That's-um-thank you."

Ed nods and David clears his throat. "I'm sure-well-I'm sure you and Justine do too."

He immediately winces. But Ed nods, a little uncertainly now. "Oh. Um-well-thanks."

David tries not to notice they're both blushing.

Another silence lingers, then.

"Well."

"Well, I'd better-"

"Oh. Oh yes, me too-"

Maybe it's the Christmas cards. That's the only thing David can think of.

But for some reason, his hand moves and-well-

Touches-

Miliband's arm.

_Touches_ Miliband's arm-

"Well-see you later."

Miliband's blushing. David notices this vaguely as he tries to ignore the-rather too obvious-fact that he himself is blushing. Which is obviously ridiculous.

"Y-yes. Yes. See you later."

Miliband pats his arm-or seems to aim for his arm but misses, patting David's wrist instead. Their hands linger together for a few moments too long, and then they both pull away a little too fast.

* * *

"I've got to admire your optimism, Prime Minister."

David sometimes wonders if he will ever coax from Nick Robinson's mouth an admission that he votes Tory but he has to admit that today might not be that day.

"Any particular reason?" He takes a seat next to Robinson, clinks their Nespresso mugs together.

Nick gives him a grin. David's reminded rather strongly for a moment of their university days.

"I'd make a remark about the tracksuit" Nick says, with a grin, and David arches an eyebrow-he hadn't bothered to change after his run and he's just hoping he'll have time after Nick's gone.

He'd needed a run. He's always liked running. It's one of the few times he's not required to answer phones or make decisions or be in charge. All he has to focus on is his breathing and the rhythmic thud of his feet and his heart, constant and rapid in his ears-

Now, Nick gives him a grin. "Mainly about your election prospects, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yep." Nick takes a gulp from his mug, smile never wavering. "Fact is, you seem rather confident, Prime Minister."

"I do?"

"The whistling while you made the coffee was rather indicative, Prime Minister."

David grins. "Aren't you going to accuse me of overconfidence?"

Nick arches a brow. "Is that a headline I should use?"

David laughs and takes a sip of his own coffee."I like to think it's not out of hand."

"But honestly-" Nick isn't so indiscreet as to lean forward but David can tell from the push of the glasses to the quick squeeze of the lips that Nick's reached the question he really wants to ask.

"Whenever I speak to you-or any of the Conservatives-you all seem to be in an astonishingly positive frame of mind-"

David has a momentary flash back to George and Nick, ostentatiously avoiding each other's eyes at the last Cabinet meeting.

"That's because we're planning to run a positive campaign" he says mildly.

"But all the same-" Nick spreads one hand. "You're not an idealist. You know the most likely outcome of this election. The overwhelming likelihood is that you end up in a coalition of some sort."

David just grins and takes another sip of coffee.

"Or-" says Nick, with deliberate casualness. "That you could end up the head of a small minority government." He raises an eyebrow. "Surely you're concerned by that?"

This train of thought isn't entirely new to David.

"You know what the polls are saying" he's fretted to Lynton too many times. "We need to have contingency plans in place."

"And we will." Lynton had leant in, pushed David down rather firmly into a chair. "We will. But right now isn't when we're going to-"

"Lynton." David had looked up at him then and maybe something in his expression had brooked no argument because Lynton had actually let him finish the sentence. "What if we lose?"

Lynton had smiled.

That alone, reflects David, had been rather unnerving.

"David" Lynton had said, fairly peaceably. "I am running this campaign. I know what is going on in this campaign. And do you honestly imagine that if those polls were the only indications of the results this campaign will yield, that I would be sitting here-" Lynton had glanced at David's desk. "Listening to your polling terrors next to a koala." He glanced at it again. "One of mine, isn't it?"

David had blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. "Oh. Yeah."

Lynton had promptly patted the koala's head and grinned at David, who had stared back, mind ticking.

"Wait." He'd met Lynton's eyes then, feeling his brow furrow. "Are you saying you've got other polls? Polls that show-"

Lynton had tapped the side of his nose.

David had rolled his eyes. "Lynton, that's annoying enough when Nancy does it."

Lynton had sighed. "Take it as a yes. And no-" as David had opened his mouth to protest. "You can't see them."

David had opened his mouth again.

"No."

David had closed his mouth, then, suddenly thinking of something, opened it again.

"David, how many-"

"I was going to ask" David had said, blinking up at him."Where the hell do you get all those koalas?"

Now, looking at Nick, David can't help but smile a little. "Let's just say-" he says, taking another sip of his coffee. "We're waiting to see what the outcome is."

* * *

Ed snatches a glance around the office under his eyelashes, after the door closes behind him. It feels oddly furtive, as though he's doing something he shouldn't be, the knowledge prickling in the back of his mind that he's not just one of the few people in the country who'd be allowed in here, but one of the few who's allowed in here alone.

It's just a little strange, he thinks as he glances around Cameron's private office once again, smoothing the envelope carefully, to think that this could be his office in less than a year's time.

Will be, Alastair would say, but Ed can't quite grasp the word yet. He tries, but he always lets it go at the last minute. He can't quite hold onto it yet, really.

But right now, this is Cameron's office and it feels almost too strange to be in here alone.

Ed glances down at the card, then back at the desk and swallows. Maybe he should just leave the card here. After all-

That's when the door opens and Cameron steps in. Ed's mouth suddenly feels uncomfortably dry.

Maybe it's just the way they said goodbye to each other but somehow the first thing he notices is that Cameron's _changed._

Which shouldn't really mean anything.

It's just-_unusual _to see Cameron out of a suit.

At Sam's party and Bonfire Night-

But that was before-well.

Before trains and apologies and Cameron's head on his shoulder-

_(Not masosadism, don't think of-)_

(He shouldn't be blushing.)

But-it shouldn't even-

But this is Cameron's office and-well.

He's in a shirt with long sleeves and his hair's wet. Ed notices this vaguely, droplets falling from his hair onto his shirt.

He notices as Cameron spins and then claps a hand over his chest. "Jesus, Miliband-"

Ed jumps. "Th-sorry-"

Cameron's grinning, even as he makes his way to his desk. "This a new Labour tactic, Miliband?" he remarks with a grin as he leans against the desk. "Send the incumbent Prime Minister into cardiac arrest?"

"Hilarious-" Ed manages before his eyes drift down and he sees that Cameron's shirt-

Well-

Cameron's shirt-

It's unbuttoned.

Well, the first two buttons are-

And that doesn't mean anything. Of course it doesn't mean-Cameron's perfectly-it's completely _normal _that Cameron would-

But his eyes are hovering on that strip of skin peeking through the buttons and that's-

That's-

Ed's staring. He's staring and-he quickly drags his eyes up.

Cameron's eyes find his and Ed feels the blush rise to his cheeks. Which is ridiculous because-because-he wasn't _staring-_

He was just _surprised-_

He finds himself meeting Cameron's eyes again and then wonders when he first looked away.

"Oh-" He wonders when Cameron stopped speaking and then wonders if he himself has been speaking. And then wonders what precisely he was about to say.

"Oh" he manages again and then his eyes snap to Cameron's. "Oh. Oh. Sorry. I, um-I-"

Cameron blinks. "Oh-um. Thank you. I'm not sure what _for-"_

"Oh-" and don't look, don't _look, don't look at him, don't_-his eyes are drifting a little lower and for some reason his breath is catching in his throat, his hands curling at his sides. "I-um-just-I-"

He snatches another glimpse of Cameron's skin, just peeking through, and Ed suddenly feels light-headed.

"Oh-" Cameron's laughing suddenly and adjusting his collar. Ed blinks, again, feeling-

Well-

Almost-

"Christ, my hair's dripping-" Cameron's shaking his head a little, before he pulls a towel from within his desk and tousles his hair with it. He grins at Ed as he lets the towel fall and Ed feels an odd shiver that seems to start in his chest and leave a strangely pleasant squirming sensation in his ribs. There are goosebumps on the back of his neck.

"Anyway-" Cameron tilts his head and that's when Ed realises he's standing there, doing something horribly close to _staring._

At _Cameron_.

Bloody_ Cameron-_

"Oh-oh." He blinks. "Oh. God-sorry. Oh-sorry-"

He's tongue-tied and he can feel the heat in his cheeks and he doesn't even know _why-_

He follows Cameron's gaze to his hand and it takes him a moment too long to realise he's holding a card.

Which Cameron has somehow managed to make him forget.

It's Cameron with that_ grin_ and that-that-

"Oh. Yes. Yes. Your card." It comes out a little sharper, rapid, but-

This is Cameron, who makes laws that just makes things worse and increases inequality and just won't see-

And whose eyes have just creased with that grin, those dimples deepening and Ed realises belatedly, that he's just standing there, clutching his card and staring at Cameron, who's so bloody _confusing-_

"Oh-" He's cut off by the sharp wave of confusion and something that's almost irritated rising in his throat and he has to blink and shake his head a little-"Oh. Sorry. Um-here-"

"Merry Christmas" he adds a second later, as Cameron takes the card, confusion furrowing his brow alongside amusement. "I hope-well-th-sorry it's late-"

Cameron's already opening the card and his eyes are creased and something about the look is so-

So much-

Younger.

Almost _boyish-_

It's then he realises that Cameron's opening the card.

No, Cameron's opening the-

_Now-_

Ed's never known quite where to look when people are opening presents. And cards are worse because they contain writing. Actual, scribbled-out ink, thoughts and feelings carved into a page.

Words are too easy to hurt.

Ed can't look at him as Cameron grins at the picture on the front

(Ed flinches every time he sees that picture, because the laughter that's twisting itself out of Justine's mouth in strange shapes is bent and tied around the knot of Daniel's brows and the emptiness between his own hands when he'd reached for one of their sons a second too late.)

Cameron just smiles at it and Ed wonders, not for the first time, if pictures are really that important to everyone else.

Then Cameron opens the card and Ed's hand immediately fastens around his own sleeve. He tugs at it for a few moments, before his hand jumps to his neck, rubbing the skin nervously. He can't look at Cameron.

He glances around the room, but that just makes it worse because it brings his thoughts back to who could own this office in six months' time

(Six months, how on earth is it _six months-)_

He tries not to but his eyes dart up every few seconds to snatch another glimpse of Cameron. Each time he sees Cameron with that small smile playing at his mouth and his brow furrowed a little and anxiety pulls tight in his stomach because-

_Don't laugh_ is all he thinks stupidly. And then all at once, berates himself for being so concerned with Cameron's opinion, and he can feel a frown creeping to his mouth and eyes and he chews his lip a little awkwardly.

It seems to take an age for Cameron to look up with that smile at his mouth and Ed feels himself stiffen all over, his heart much too fast. "W-what?"

Cameron takes a step closer, then. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then he just tilts his head to the side, watching Ed with a smile.

(A smile.)

(Not a grin.)

"What?" Ed knows the word is snapped a little, and tries to soften his tone. "I mean-I hope that's-ah-"

There's a strange nervousness creeping under his ribs-a feeling of not quite being able to fit in his own skin, and the longer Cameron looks at him like_ that_-the more wary Ed feels-

"C-Cameron-"

Cameron blinks, then gives his head a quick jerk. "Sorry."

He doesn't sound sorry. There's a quiet amusement there, but it doesn't sound like he's laughing, either.

Ed shouldn't feel this nervous over a bloody _card._

He shouldn't feel this bloody _nervous _in front of _Cameron _for _any_ reason-

"I just-" Cameron clears his throat and the hint of something too quick for Ed to catch flits across his face. "Well. Thank you."

That little smile's still there and something about that and the strip of skin he can still see peeking through Cameron's buttons leaves Ed fumbling for words.

"You're-um-"

"It's-ah-" Cameron's grin deepens again and he steps closer, his elbow brushing Ed's. "I do like the fact you point out that _"neither of us know what will have happened in six months."" _Cameron gives him a grin. "Very subtle, Miliband."

Ed laughs, though it comes out a little higher than usual. Cameron winks and something about it sends an excitement prickling through his bones and he has to drag his eyes away from Cameron's before that smile can appear at his mouth again.

Somehow, he's moved a step closer to Cameron without noticing, so they're standing still, almost-

Almost leaning-

Leaning against each other-

They both look up at the same time and Ed stumbles over his words. "Oh. Oh-um-I like yours'-your card. Your-well-"

Cameron's smirking. Ed curses himself. "I liked it" is all he can manage, and then he snaps his mouth shut, wishing he'd never opened it in the first place.

"Good." Cameron's voice curls, as though he might be about to break into a laugh. He looks at Ed quickly, then away, then back. "The boys look sweet-"

"Yes. They-um-" Ed wishes he hadn't started the sentence. "They-well-they-we couldn't get them to smile, really."

Cameron shrugs. "Yes, sometimes, ours' don't-better not to make them, really. Always end up with sort of-" He flashes an imitation of a smile. "Rictus grins, you know-"

Ed thinks he would have settled for a rictus grin. "Yeah-yes-I mean, we thought they'd get used to it you know-"

He winces because there'd been a moment-a moment when the boys had been wriggling and Daniel's brow had been knotted and Justine had been trying to straighten them up with a grin and "Now smile for Daddy-" and Daniel had just_ glowered _at her, and a thought had stabbed Ed sharply, an angry jab that had cut before he could stop it, leaking little whispers, _Why can't you just do it for me? Just smile for a bloody picture and make it a bit easier, for God's sake._

He'd shaken it away a moment later, forced his voice to soften, to coax, but the words had still lingered.

Now, he glances at Cameron, who's still smiling down at the card and then realises he's moved closer again without meaning to.

Cameron glances at him and smiles again-just smiles. Ed's arm's brushing his. He can smell the other man's shampoo, he realises vaguely, and then that he's not moving away.

Cameron tracks Ed's gaze which he realises a second too late has been roaming to Cameron's hairline, and then Cameron rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Just been for a run. That's why-" He points to his hair unnecessarily. "Got showered."

Ed nods and then blurts out before he can do anything stupid, "I used to run."

He immediately wishes he'd done something stupid.

"Oh." Cameron's grin is mischievous now. "I remember."

Ed winces at the memory of the picture that had graced the headlines, of himself in that stupid shirt, with that stupid run, with that stupid-

"Yes" he manages, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. "Yes. It was-um-" He tries for a laugh but doesn't quite manage it.

Cameron's laughing, he realises, but there's something softer in his eyes and he steps closer. "It wasn't that bad" he offers, though his eyes are dancing. They're bluer than he realised, he notes vaguely.

"Thanks very much" he manages, with a laugh that's too high-pitched. Cameron's just watching him and the scent of his shampoo is stronger now and a faint soapy smell underneath. Ed fidgets, heat creeping higher and higher up his neck-

_God, you smell good-_

The thought is like a smack in the face. Ed almost jumps.

Where the-where on _earth-_

"I mean it-" Cameron's voice is a little lower now and Ed looks up to find Cameron's eyes only an inch from his own. He takes in a breath, blinks, chews his lip. "You-um. You didn't look bad."

"Oh." Ed's voice is a little shaky. He doesn't know what to do with his hands suddenly. "Oh. Well. Thank you-"

Cameron smells good, and he can't stop thinking it, can't stop noticing-

"You-I never thought-you-um-" He's stumbling and somehow Cameron's cheeks look a little flushed in the light.

"You didn't look bad. Either. I mean-I didn't think you looked bad, either. You-um-I-"

He's blushing. He knows and that makes it worse.

Cameron isn't smiling now, but somehow that makes his eyes softer, his voice lower. "Thank you."

Cameron's fingers graze his hand and their eyes meet for a breath, before they both look down at the same moment. Ed has a brief impression of warmth and soap before they both step back at once.

"I-um-" He feels a little dazed and he's suddenly a little too aware that he's standing close to Cameron-

And that they're alone. In Cameron's office.

Though that shouldn't mean anything.

"Yes-well-"

"I-I'd better go soon-" Ed blurts out, a little too fast. "I mean, it's, um-"

"Oh-oh yes, of course-" Cameron nods and then says, as though he's been meaning to all along, "I-I don't know if I'll be able to see you tomorrow so I-I might send your present over-it's not huge-" he says, perhaps sensing Ed's immediate prickle of worry. "It's just a-a token, you know-"

"Oh. Oh, yeah, of course-I-I mean, thankth-s-" Ed bites his lip and then blurts it out in a rush. "I've-um-got something for you, too."

He immediately blushes at how the words sound. "I mean-I mean, it's not like-you know-it's the same sort of thing-"

He clears his throat. "Well. You-um-you understand-"

Cameron nods slowly. "I know." He gives him the Cameron grin again and suddenly Ed wants the smile back, not the grin.

"Thanks" Cameron says and Ed swallows. But Cameron's eyes dart away and then back and then there's something there like that smile.

"I like the wreath" Ed volunteers, after a moment, eyes drifting to the Christmas wreath he's only just noticed on the wall. Cameron follows his gaze.

"Christmas" he says and then somehow he's standing next to Ed again. "Do you remember one of the first times I asked you up here?"

Ed almost jumps at the words. Cameron glances at him and this time it's the smile. Not the grin.

"I mean-after that-ah-encounter with Angela Eagle-"

"Oh-when you-with your characteristic charm-advised her to calm down-"

"No, I was actually thinking of an entirely different Angela Eagle. There are a surprising number of Angela Eagl-"

Ed touches his arm and Cameron stops. He does this before he actually realises he's doing it.

But Cameron stops and they both smile.

They both do this before they realise that the reason Cameron's stopped is that Ed's put his hand on his arm.

They both stare at each other and Ed's hand doesn't move fast enough.

When it does, Cameron says a little more quickly than usual, "Anyway, do you remember?"

Ed does.

"You asked me if I thought Sam or Justine would have the bigger hat and whether Bercow would call "Order, order" when William and Kate lined up in front of the altar."

"Yes."

"I pretended to laugh."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "Also yes."

Ed's mouth twitches, too. He feels it at the same moment he feels something shift, the same way he did on the swings and at the bonfire. He and Cameron are watching each other.

Ed laughs, then, and it's easier. It's easier and Cameron's laughing, too. They stand there together, laughing and almost touching each other's arms a few times but not quite.

"I thought you were pretending" Cameron tells him, when they can breathe again, and Ed just shakes his head and says, laughter still cracking his voice, "I knew you knew I was."

"Well-" and Cameron's voice is quieter. "I know what it sounds like. When you laugh."

Ed swallows hard. "Yeah" is all he can say and then "Yes" because it's true.

Cameron has always been able to make him laugh.

It's annoying, he tells himself.

His eyes drop to Cameron's shirt again and then back up and maybe it's this, that and the sight of Cameron in a loose shirt with his hair dripping that, maybe-

"It's weird" is what he blurts out and then, even as Cameron's brow furrows, "That you can be like this?"

It comes out as a question.

"Like-"

"Like-" Ed doesn't mean it to come out. "You-I mean, obviously _you_-but-but-_this_ you-I mean-"

He almost can't look at Cameron.

"You're-you're not always like this. Sometimes, you-sometimes, you're-you _can _be-like this-"

He avoids Cameron's eyes.

Cameron looks back at him. Ed waits to be asked what he means.

Cameron keeps looking. Eventually, Ed looks back at him.

Cameron's not grinning. He's not smiling, either. But-it's a look not unlike the smile. It's a softer look. A quieter look.

"I don't know " is what he says and Ed meets his eyes again.

"It's-" and Cameron tilts his head to the side. "It's like-well-"

Cameron never fumbles for words.

"It's as though" and he looks a little past Ed as he says it, "You can't understand why anyone _would-_be different."

"Different-"

"Out there-and in here-different."

Ed blinks. "Well-"

He can't, is the first answer he comes up with. He's never thought of being any different because-

It's dishonest, is what his brain clings to. It's insincere.

But then Cameron watches him, head on one side and says "I suppose that makes _you-"_ and something about the words are almost-

A little-

Ed isn't sure whether or not he wants Cameron to finish the sentence.

Cameron looks at him again and then says quickly "I don't think that you're a waste of space."

The words sting again.

"I didn't think you did."

"I know. But-I just wanted to clarify."

Ed looks back and for a moment, he wants to ask again.

But then Cameron says "I suppose I don't understand how you couldn't" and Ed looks at him and says "That's not an answer."

Cameron looks back and the tiniest smile creeps out. "No, it isn't."

Ed waits for the easy line to creep out too and it doesn't.

Instead, he says "I think that's the first time you've said you don't know something."

Cameron's mouth twitches. "I know."

They both laugh again, a little sadder. But they stand there a while longer.

Ed supposes he should say something.

Something about how this-

The smile behind the grin-

The David behind the Cameron-

He-

He thinks he might like this-

But he doesn't.

"Merry Christmas, Cameron" is what comes out, staring at the wreath, and it comes out breathy, almost a whisper.

There's a moment of silence and then Cameron's voice, lower, almost husky. "Merry Christmas Miliband."

Ed sneaks a quick look at him and Cameron hastily looks away. Ed feels his breath catch in his throat. And he stands, quiet in the dim light and listens to him and Cameron listen to each other breathing.

* * *

"Nice, isn't it?" Kate holds up the box of Ferrero Rocher and Gavin grins, holding up his own Celebrations. "Didn't even know you could get a box this size."

Gavin pats his box quite affectionately. "Perils of the job, isn't it?" He gives Kate a wink. "Though whether we get anything nicer from the Chancellor-"

"Fuck off." Kate throws up a finger and a grin. "We dated for five months-"

"You'd think you'd get the best chocolates out of it, then-"

"Oh, shut up."

"Pretty much what Dave said when I delivered Miliband's chocolates to him this morning."

"And those are words I never thought would cross your lips."

"Well, neither did I." Gavin pulls a pile of documents closer. "And possibly, neither did Lynton, so I'd keep quiet about it if I were you. Dave's kids will be pleased with their lot, though. As will Miliband's."

"How did Dave react?"

"The usual." Gavin leans back in his chair. "Grinned, shook his head, stared at the card, muttered something about "bloody Miliband" and grinned again. And let's all just note that _that_ has now become the new normal."

Kate winks. "Miliband probably did something similar when he opened his chocolates. Which Dave insisted on buying himself, by the way."

"Bit odd, isn't it?" Gavin glances at the clock, then, deciding that Christmas spirit will probably prevail, rips open the box of chocolates. "The whole Three Musketeers thing-"

"Two Musketeers-"

"What?"

"Two Musketeers-unless you're counting Clegg-"

"You're focusing way too much on the Musketeers thing-" Gavin holds up a hand.

"I know what you mean." Kate follows suit with her own chocolates, popping one in her mouth. "Then again, I'm used to him being up against Brown."

"Not Blair, though."

"Oh God, no. Wouldn't have been shocked if he was best friends with _Blair-"_

"Don't let Dave hear you say that" Gavin warns her with a wink. "But it is-" He searches for another word but only comes up with "Odd."

"True. Maybe it's Christmas spirit." Kate pops another chocolate into her mouth. "Though I don't know if Jaffa Cakes are particularly Christmassy-"

"Jaffa Cakes?"

"What he got Miliband. Along with some Celebrations."

Gavin grins. "Christmas spirit prevailing, then?"

"He likes Jaffa Cakes, apparently. Though I suppose Dave knows what he likes."

Gavin snorts. "Please don't say that."

Kate grins at him. "True. I could always remind you of what George likes-"

Gavin throws a Celebration at her. Kate bursts out laughing and catches it in her hands, unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth triumphantly.

* * *

Andy looks up and grins as Balls holds up the gift Andy wrapped for him last night with a raised eyebrow.

"Really, Burnham?"

"Not the typical response when you're thanking someone for a gift."

"A Sound of Music tea towel?"

"Don't say I don't know you."

Ed shoves his shoulder gently. "Thanks, mate."

Andy grins. "And thanks for the Everton cushion-throw."

Ed positions himself on a chair, legs spread round the back of it. "Don't say_ I_ don't know _you."_

Andy grins, glances up at the fairy lights strung above the desk. "Off to Morley tomorrow?"

"Yep. You off to Leigh?"

"Yep."

"And then it's the fucking holidays. Thank Christ for that." Ed sighs, resting his chin on his arms. "And of course Yvette will remind me that no matter how fucking exhausted I am, it's nothing compared to what she's-"

Andy aims a grin over his shoulder. Ed spins round, scrabbles for purchase, and nearly turns the chair over. Andy bursts out laughing. Balls glowers at him. "Fuck off, Burnham."

"What did Ed get you?"

"Terry's Chocolate Orange." Ed chucks it triumphantly in the air.

Andy grins, proffering his own. Balls rolls his eyes. "Don't ask what he got from Cameron."

"Oh?" Andy grins, debating the merits of opening his own now.

Balls informs Andy he doesn't want to talk about it and then proceeds to talk about it.

"A box of Celebrations. And Jaffa Cakes."

"Jaffa Cakes?""

"Yeah, he'd live on them if he could." Balls rolls his eyes. "Ed got him Ferrero Rocher. And oatcake biscuits."

"Oatcake biscuits?"

"Apparently, they're Cameron's favourites. And the fact I know that is something that should deeply fucking disturb you."

Andy grins at him. "How did he react to Cameron's?"

Ed's mouth twists in something close to disgust. "He _grinned"_ he says, as if alluring to catching Miliband in_ flagrante delicto_ with that koala of Cameron's.

He stares at Andy, as if waiting for something. "He _grinned" _he says again, as if Andy might not have heard him the first time.

Andy stares back at him for a moment. Then, "Oh." Andy sits up, shaking his head. "My apologies-so sorry-" He shakes his head, pushing his papers aside-"Sorry-" Andy reaches for his phone. "Sorry, I've _just_ got to call my cardiologist-I think my heart _might _have just given out from that information-"

"Shut up, Burnham."

* * *

"Thank you for the presents" is what David deems it appropriate to begin with.

He tries for a smile and so does Nick, a second too late.

"Flo will be thrilled with that Frozen chocolate box" David tries to joke, but Nick draws in a breath and then stops, censoring himself quickly with a small shake to the head.

"No." The word comes out before David can stop it.

Nick looks up. David curses himself.

"Tell me" he manages and then, grimacing a little at how the words sound, "I mean-whatever you were going to say."

Nick gives him something that's almost a smile, then-a smile and a strange jerk of the head. "You know-" he manages, and then the smile-or something like a smile-deepens a little and he shakes his head a little harder this time. "Doesn't matter."

"No, it-"

"Thanks." Nick looks up at him rather abruptly. "I mean, for the kids' presents. And mine and Miriam's, too-" He clears his throat, then swallows.

David opens his mouth but Nick speaks before he can. "I suppose this might be the last Christmas, mightn't it?"

He laughs. It almost sounds like a laugh.

"'Course, it might be easier to put the lights up then-a little less negotiation-"

The silence hovers for a moment. David chooses his words carefully.

"Well. Once your lot throw us onto the streets-"

There's another moment of silence and then they both laugh a little too loudly.

It's a little too quiet when they stop. David looks at Nick and then says, Lynton's voice already whispering warningly in the back of his head, "Are you all right?"

Nick's head snaps up then and for a moment, they just look at each other. Then Nick shrugs. "I suppose."

The words linger there, between them. Lynton's voice yells, throwing itself against David's skull, and when he opens his mouth, the words have polished themselves without him noticing.

"I suppose we'd better prepare, then."

Nick meets his eyes too and then his voice is a little crisper, a little sharper. "Perhaps you'd better."

They smile at each other. It doesn't quite reach either of their eyes.

"Well." Nick's voice is low. "I hope you have a good Christmas."

David returns the sentiment, and tries to think it's more than that.

They look at each other as Nick heads for the door and Nick's voice is softer as he says "Happy Christmas, David."

David's voice is a little louder than it should be. "Happy Christmas, Nick."

They watch each other, with small inclines of the heads that are almost nods. Then, Nick turns and lets the door click closed softly behind him, and David is alone in the heart of Downing Street.

* * *

George is all too aware of how demanding his job can be, but he did rather suppose Christmas Eve might be his own.

"Country collapsed, Prime Minister?"

"Merry Christmas to you too, George." George glances at the clock with one eye open, and winces-it's not even eight. Next to him, Frances kicks him lazily with a groan and pulls the pillow over her head.

"Didn't realise I'd slept through two days already" he mutters, propping himself up on the elbow. "Frances is going to kill you, by the way."

"Tell her good morning." George winces at the sheer volume of David's voice, which is, as usual, unreasonably cheerful for this hour of the morning.

Frances mutters something that sounds nothing like a return of the sentiment.

"Well?" George mutters, rolling over and wondering if he can get away with falling asleep over the phone. "Has the economy crumbled? Eric eaten your last sandwich? Boris fallen off his bike-"

"Nah." David sounds supremely unconcerned. "I wanted to ask Frances something, actually."

George says something remarkably unfestive. Frances kicks him again.

"Charming."

George buries his face in the pillow. "What is it?"

"Can't I have Frances-"

"If you have Frances, you won't have your hearing."

"Or some other things" mutters Frances darkly into the pillow.

"Can you ask her something, then?"

"If this is about losing your hair, again-"

Frances snorts into the pillow.

"I _told _you that was the _angle of the picture-"_

_"Dave."_ George nestles back into the pillow. _"Please_ tell me what it is you wanted before I drive down there and strangle you with your own Christmas lights."

"Is it technically treason to make a threat against the Prime Minister's life-"

"You really need to brush up on what_ treason_ means-"

Frances says something unintelligible but which George would take a wild guess is not full of the joys of Christmas.

"What is it, Dave?"

"Do you think Miliband will be up yet?"

George is half-dozing into the pillow, the phone pressing into his cheek when David says this.

A second later, he's sitting up right, his hair wild and the phone almost dropping out of his hand. "Are you fucking _joking?"_

"You might want to keep your temper-" The smile creeping back into David's voice doesn't help much. "If you're planning to be Prime Minister-"

"If you just woke me up at 7:30 to ask me what time Miliband _gets up-"_

"Of course I haven't." David sounds a little insulted. "I've woken you up at _7:50_ to ask you what time Miliband gets up."

George's prompt reply is to thump the pillow, which results in Frances doing the same but with the pillow rather than a fist, which is aimed at George's head.

"Are you _serious?"_

"Perfectly."

"Why the hell do you need to know?"

"Well." For the first time, David sounds a touch uncomfortable. "It's his birthday-"

George, who's still contemplating just how easy David's Christmas lights are to tie into knots, feels his brow furrow. "So?"

David clears his throat, but George is already rolling his eyes. "Oh God. You got him a present, didn't you?"

There's a short silence and then "You could say that."

George lets his head fall into his hands. "What did you get him?"

There's another pause and then "Just a book."

It's at this point that Frances sits up, with the remark "And no, he doesn't already have it."

George blinks and then turns to stare at her. "You knew?"

"I asked her" says David at exactly the same moment that Frances says "He asked me."

George rolls his eyes. "And neither of you thought to tell me?"

He hears David take in a breath, but he's cut off by Frances sitting up, her hair rumpled, one finger held out warningly. "George. You have just woken me up at 7:50 am on Christmas Eve. For the sake of our marriage, I would shut up." With that, she lies down again.

George is still judging whether to heed this warning or not, when Frances abruptly sits up again. "And it's far too early. He sleeps late, so you're better off going later."

She lies down once again. George turns back to the phone. "Did you hear my wife's dulcet tones?"

This earns him another kick. George thanks God Frances isn't more awake.

"Yes." David sounds almost a little subdued for a moment and then, suddenly, sounding a little brighter, "She still your wife, then?"

"Not for long." Frances' voice is muffled and when George turns, he can see she's buried her face in her pillow again.

"No thanks to you" he mutters and David laughs, voice a little lighter then. "Merry Christmas, George."

"Again, no thanks to you."

David laughs louder and George relents a little. "Merry Christmas" he says a little softer, and after a few moments of bidding each other goodbye, George rolls over to look at his wife.

"Sorry" he mutters, already settling onto his pillow again.

"You will be" is all he gets in reply, and then his eyes fall closed, cursing David's penchant for five am wake-ups.

He's cursing it more a few seconds later when the phone rings again.

Frances spins round so fast that George is almost knocked off the bed. "You must be joking."

George rather echoes this sentiment, but he shakes his head. "No, it's a text-" He takes a glance at the screen and grins. "Danny-just a Merry Christmas thing-"

"Fantastic." Frances already has her face buried in the pillow again. "Tell him you'll get back to him later."

George scans the message quickly. "He's already told me to._ I know this is ridiculously early-"_

"Fantastic." Frances lies down again, pulling the duvet up to her chin. George nestles the phone back on his bedside cabinet, lies down and closes his eyes.

The phone rings again.

George's eyes fly open, which is when Frances almost bounces upright and declares "That's it."

Before George can move, he's pinned down by Frances throwing her weight across him. Her hand scrabbles for his phone, yanks it to his ear and says, without preamble, "Whoever you are, if you're not calling with the news the country is crumbling around us, then I promise, I'm begging you, _piss off."_

The phone rings again. Frances yell something inarticulately unintelligible.

George watches her for another moment, and then reaches for the phone. "Ah."

Frances stares at him.

George winces. "It's the alarm."

Frances stares for another moment, before her eyes narrow.

George holds up a hand. "I _may_ have forgotten to reset it-"

He doesn't finish the sentence, mainly because it's punctuated rather abruptly by Frances' pillow crashing down over his head.

* * *

"Do miss-Mummy when she at work?"

Sam is nestled against Ed's side, eyes trained on the Octonauts. Ed lets his hand nestle in his son's curls and feels a strange jab of relief when Sam doesn't pull away.

"Well-" Ed tries to keep his voice even, his eyes on the screen. "Of course I do. But-Mummy's work is very important." The words don't come out as easily as they should.

"It's your _birthday"_ Sam says, words coming out a little garbled.

Ed nods, and he bites his lip for a fraction of a second, before he says "Well-Mummy couldn't help it."

Technically, "Mummy" could have helped it, Ed thinks but doesn't say.

It hadn't been much of a surprise that Justine had to work. Ed had still had scrambled eggs and a quick kiss on the cheek and the boys singing "Happy Birthday" lackadaisically.

(And he'd also had Daniel's knees thumping into his chest at the crack of dawn and his own voice, cracking with sleep, louder than he'd realised, "Daniel, I've _told _you not to do that" and Daniel's tremble of the lips and his slipping away before Ed could drag himself out of sleep to wrap his arms around him and Justine's furrow of the brow and "That could have been less harsh" and his own voice, sharpening as he watched her get dressed for work, "Well, I don't see you going to cuddle him.")

And now he has Daniel upstairs and Sam letting him hug him and being too quiet when he speaks to him.

Ed nestles back into the couch because he's not-

Well. He's not-

It's almost as though he's _pretending_ to feel bad-

Or at least trying to feel bad. That Justine thinks work's more important. Trying, but not quite able to grasp the feeling-

It's then that his phone rings.

Ed sighs and is already playing the guessing game as to who it will be-Balls, Tom, Bob, Tom, Greg, or Tom-when Sam says "Phone always_ rings._

Ed winces. "I know, sweetie, but I-ah-"

But Sam's attention is already back on the TV screen and the phone's still ringing, so Ed, with one hand awkwardly ruffling his son's curls, reaches for the phone.

Cameron's name is on the screen and Ed feels himself jump a little.

He scrabbles at the phone quickly, lifting it to his ear and almost dropping it as he reaches for the remote control.

"Thought you appreciated holidays, Prime-here, sweetie-" This to Sam, adjusting the volume carefully. "I'll be back in in a second-"

"Friendly greeting, Miliband-"

Ed feels the same jumping sensation, but this time it comes with a grin that he can't seem to stop from making its' way to his mouth.

"I didn't-" The words trip over one another as he realises. "Oh-God-I was talking to, to Sam-"

Cameron's laughing. Ed can't stop grinning.

(He hates that Cameron's laughter makes him grin.)

"Rather an excess of Christmas spirits, Miliband-"

Ed rolls his eyes. "I thought you'd be making the most of the time off-"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Chillaxed Prime Minister-" Ed catches himself making air quotes in the mirror, winces, stops, then winces again at the words. "That-um-that came out-" _Wrong, God, why does it always-_

Cameron's laughing, though-laughing harder. "Well, I _was_ going to interrupt my schedule to wish you a Happy Birthday, but-"

Ed grips the phone a little tighter and notices vaguely that his cheeks seem to be warm. "Oh. You-you remember that-" is what comes out, with a strange, leaping sensation somewhere in his midriff.

"Contrary to what you may think-" He can hear the grin in Cameron's voice now. "I do pay attention to _some_ things you tell me."

"That's a birthday present."

"Well. It's-ah-not your only one-"

Ed frowns. Cameron clears his throat.

"I may have-um-got you a present."

Ed feels a smile spread over his mouth and he turns away quickly to hide from whoever might be watching. But only Sam's there and his eyes are fixed on the TV, as Ed's hand covers his mouth automatically, then crawls up into his hair, rubbing over the back of his neck, the stupid grin not wanting to recede.

"Really?"

"Ah-yes." Cameron clears his throat again. "I was actually going to drop it off. If you'd like-"

"What, here?"

Ed winces the moment the words are out of his mouth.

"If here is your house, then-well, yes."

Ed swallows and then suddenly realises the onus is on him to say something. "Oh. Um. Yes. Well-yeah. That would be-great."

There's a brief pause, then "If it puts you out, I could drop it off over the holidays. I mean, I appreciate it's rather short notice-"

It may be Ed's imagination but he thinks he hears Cameron's voice become smoother, the words polishing themselves a little, as if testing their own strength. For some reason, that sends a pang through him.

"No-no-I mean-you could come by-" He winces again. "I mean-I'm not doing anything-you could-unless it's too much trouble-"

Ed catches sight of his reflection and winces.

"Fantastic." Ed has to bite his lip at the smoothness of the word and at the slight breath of relief he detects underneath it.

"Right. Well. Ah-what time do you want to-"

"I could be there soon. If you like?"

"Yes" Ed manages a little too quickly. "Yes, that would be-yeah."

There's a moment of silence before he hears a breath of a laugh. "Ah-all right. I'll-well. I suppose we'll see each other soon."

"Yes. I suppose-"

"See you soon then, Miliband."

For some reason, the name makes Ed smile a little harder.

"See you soon, Cameron." The words come out softer than they should.

Even once he's hung up the phone, he stands still for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror. There's a slight smile hovering at his mouth he can't quite seem to get rid of.

* * *

"You keep _walking_, Daddy" Sam tells him, a few minutes later.

"Do I?"

Ed doesn't need to ask this. He knows he's walking, but for some reason, he can't stop.

"I can't _see,_ Daddy" is all Sam says quietly, curling back into his seat.

"Sorry." Ed steps back, then resumes pacing before he can stop himself. He forces himself to stop, then moves to the mirror.

For some reason, he's almost....nervous. It's a strange feeling-an excitement but with a nervousness that undercuts everything, and leaves his heartbeat a little too rapid, his smile hovering constantly but his feet unable to stay still. He finds himself squinting anxiously at his reflection.

Ed blinks as he realises what he's doing, but-

He can't make sense of it. But he examines his hair and then somehow ends up pacing again.

It's strange. He can't quite seem to _settle_ for some reason, and every time he thinks about the fact Cameron's coming, the sensation intensifies in a way that leaves his heart beating almost painfully fast. He bites his lip, then threads his fingers together, then bites his lip again.

It's ridiculous but for some reason, he can't bring himself to sit still even when he does take a seat in the armchair, and he's not entirely sure why. It feels like a grin fighting its' way out of his chest and at the same time he feels a strange nervousness that's leaving him a little too breathless.

The doorbell rings and Ed jumps before he can stop himself. Sam looks round from the TV slowly, eyes big and dark, while Ed feels the heat rise to his cheeks slowly.

"That's-um-"

"Mr. David _Cameron"_ Sam says quietly.

Ed nods, before it occurs to him that he really should get up and actually open the door. As a result, he scrambles upright so quickly he nearly loses his balance.

He resists the strange urge to look in the mirror again and heads for the hallway. He tugs at his jumper sleeves and then pulls the door open, to be greeted by-

"Happy Birthday." Cameron gives him a grin over his scarf and Ed notices vaguely that its' navy colour makes his eyes look bluer than ever.

He then notices another pair of big, blue eyes, fixed very solemnly on his own, peering out from under Cameron's chin.

"Ah-" Cameron unbuttons the top of his coat to unveil a solemn, chubby-cheeked little face under the solemn big blue eyes and Ed blinks. "Oh. Hello-"

Florence curls back into Cameron's chest a little and Cameron juggles her gently. "Flo?"

Florence puffs out her cheeks and then blurts out almost in one breath "Happy-birthday-Mr-Ed-Miliband-I-hope-you-like-your-present-very-very-much-is-Sam-here-ple-please?"

Cameron meets Ed's eyes sheepishly. Ed looks from one pair of appealing big blue eyes to another and feels a grin spread over his own mouth.

"Thank you very much, Florence." He holds the door open, eyes finding Cameron's again. Both of them grin at the same time and Ed feels that strange leaping sensation again, as Cameron carefully extricates his little daughter from his coat and lowers her to the floor, as Ed pushes the door shut behind them.

"Sorry" Cameron says, in an undertone as Florence glances about the hallway, thumb travelling to her mouth. "Sam's just taken over making mince pies with Nancy and Elwen's offering some help, so Flo was a little underfoot-"

"It's fine-" Ed glances at the door. "You don't need-"

"No-security's fine, they're all outside-" Cameron gives him the quickest of winks and Ed feels something like a shiver. "They trust you not to resort to completely unscrupulous methods to win elections" Cameron adds, crouching down and carefully unbuttoning Florence's coat, which Ed immediately holds out his arms for, draping it over the bannister with Cameron's.

"So you admit that's a possibility?"

"You winning or using unscrupulous tactics?" Cameron gives him the smile, head on one side.

Ed opens his mouth, and then becomes distracted by a small hand tugging insistently at his sleeve.

He looks down to see Florence's big blue eyes fixed on his own. "Mr. Ed Miliband" she says quietly, still sucking at her thumb. "Where's, where's Sam?"

"Flo-"

Ed's already bent down to her, one hand on her shoulder. "He's just through there-"

Florence glances from one to the other a little nervously. Cameron meets Ed's eyes and then takes his daughter's hand. "Come on, then, darling-"

He gives Ed an apologetic look but Ed is distracted by a small hand slipping into his own and he and Cameron together lead Florence into the living room with one hand tucked in each of theirs'.

"Sam-" Ed sees Florence's face split in a smile, dimples denting her cheeks at the sight of his son, curled up on the couch. "You've got a visitor-"

Sam twists round and his eyes widen under his mess of dark curls. "Oh-" He scrambles down from the couch, and then scurrying round the furniture, holds his hand out very seriously. "Hi-hi-"

Cameron's eyes meet Ed's own and the smile that dimples his cheeks pulls one to Ed's own mouth. Flo's hand slides free as Sam's fingers wrap around her palm, tugging her towards the television.

"Do you watch _Octonauts?"_ he asks her, big dark eyes fixed on Florence's, and Ed can't help but grin as Sam stands back so that Florence can scramble up onto the couch first.

"Well-" Cameron turns to Ed with a grin. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks-" Ed trails off as Cameron reaches into his jacket and pulls out a rectangular parcel. "Oh-"

Even though he'd known Cameron was bringing him a gift, actually being _presented _with one-

"Oh-you-you didn't have to-"

"I know." Cameron's hand hovers for a moment, as if he's about to reach out or touch his sleeve or-

Ed blinks, but before his thoughts can hover anymore, Cameron's saying, with a grin, "I can always send it back if you don't want it-"

The tone' s light but something in the blue eyes dims a little. Ed feels a sharp pang of-_something_ that makes him reach out and take the present quickly and Cameron's eyes brighten again.

"Thanks." He should say more-God, he should be _able_ to say more, but for some reason, he's not quite sure what to do with his hands and Cameron's somehow stepped a little closer to him-

"Oh-" Ed blinks. "Sorry-oh God, do you want-um-would you like a cup of tea or anything-"

"Oh-yes-yes, thanks, if it's not too much trouble-"

"Right-" Ed turns to put the parcel back down on the table, then considers that that might be rather rude. For a moment, he hovers awkwardly and then Cameron touches his arm. "You can open it if you-I mean, you don't _have_ to-"

It occurs to Ed vaguely through the haze of something like embarrassment that this is one of the few times he's ever seen Cameron look uncomfortable.

"Oh. Thanks. Well-yeth-yes-I-" He hastens to explain, tripping over the syllables a little. "I do want to-just-didn't want to be rude-" He's blushing and then Cameron laughs and says "You could try that at PMQs."

Ed manages to roll his eyes. "Hilarious." But he picks up the parcel again and heads through the open French doors to their dining table, gesturing for Cameron to do the same, as he takes a seat.

Cameron does so, and Ed finds a strange fizzle of excitement as he pulls the parcel into his lap. It's a ghost of the feeling he used to have as a child, when he'd catch sight of his presents piled around his plate, Christmas Eve morning, even as the cold bit into his bare feet. It feels a little similar now, with the Christmas tree glittering in the corner.

He unwraps the present carefully, making use of his nails, bitten as they are, Cameron's knees brushing his as he does so.

"Sorry-" Cameron winces as the sellotape sticks itself to Ed's hands. "Sam's usually the one who does the wrapping. Here-I wanted-"

He carefully peels the Sellotape free of Ed's fingers and Ed can't help but laugh. It tickles and it's something about the way Cameron's grinning at him-not the typical polished grin, designed to smooth and charm and cajole. This grin's different, one that crinkles Cameron's eyes and dents his cheeks.

Ed's hands feel strangely clumsy as he opens his present, carefully doing his best not to crumple the wrapping paper-which, he notes with some amusement, Cameron has clearly not wanted to risk damaging, given the several protective layers of sellotape he now finds himself fighting his way through.

Finally, he succeeds, peeling the paper back to find himself holding a book. He turns it over, unsure what he should expect, and then stops dead, staring at the cover.

_Red Sox Century: The Definitive History of Baseball's Most Storied Franchise _is what stares back up at him.

There are certain books that Ed has consistently reminded himself that he'll have to buy one day, if he has time. When things are less busy. When the kids are older.

(There's never been time.)

This, though, is not just _one_ of them-

Ed touches the book reverently. He's already considering buying a glass-fronted cabinet simply for its' storage and-

"Is it-ah-" Any other time, Ed would be paying more attention to the fact Cameron seems to be struggling a little with his speech. "I'd heard you were a fan of baseball, so-"

Ed swallows hard and then bites his lip, realising he hasn't even thought about this book in months. But somehow, Cameron-

He lifts his head to meet the other man's gaze.

Cameron's grinning back but there's something-uncertainty? tension?-something that-

"I can send it back if you like." Cameron's grinning but it's a little too bright now, the charm creeping back in. "I mean-it only goes up to 2004-I tried to find a later one, but Frances was positive you didn't have this-"

Ed blinks.

"I mean, I'm sure you think Tories can't admit when we've made mistakes-"

Ed opens his mouth and then closes it and all he can manage is a "No-" because suddenly, his arms, they-

Well.

They seem to-almost want to-reach out and-

Almost _hug-_

"I can, honestly-"

Cameron is reaching for the book and-

"No, no, no-" Ed holds on tightly, even as he blurts out "No, I _love _it-it'th-"

He stops dead and feels the blush rush to his cheeks.

Cameron's eyes find his again and-Ed swallows. It's only now that Cameron's grinning again, eyes suddenly brighter, that Ed realises how much his face had fallen before.

Something about that is a wrench under Ed's ribs, but now Cameron is beaming at him-not the typical Etonian grin, not the one that's polished with charm and practiced ease-but one that's crinkled his eyes and lifted his cheeks so his whole face is grinning.

Ed grins back and he can't stop. Couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. Something about that look of Cameron's-

"I-ah-heard you were quite a fan of the Red Sox-" and even Cameron's attempts to sound diffident leave Ed grinning for some reason. "And I thought-well-Frances said you didn't have it-"

"Frances?"

Cameron beams. "I enlisted help."

Ed's about to ask if Justine knows about it when his eyes fall back on the book cover, and he traces the letters. "You-ah-"

His words have deserted him.

Cameron beams. "Rather like PMQs, this-"

"Don't ruin it, Cameron-"

Cameron laughs and his hand brushes Ed's sleeve. "Happy birthday, Miliband."

"Thank you." Ed's fingers brush Cameron's wrist accidentally and he hears his own voice soften. "But-honeth-stly. Thank you."

Cameron leans forward, a little grin still there, but smaller now, softer. His eyes are softer too and so is his voice when he says "Glad you like it."

Ed becomes aware, after a moment of listening to his heart thudding more loudly than usual, that his and Cameron's knees are pressed against each other. It occurs to him then that they've moved closer to one another without realising it.

And then that neither of them has moved back.

Ed's eyes flicker up to find Cameron's doing exactly the same, and for a breath, they watch each other.

There's a ring or a shriek or a call from the TV and Ed jumps. His eyes snap to where his son and Florence are currently sitting, engrossed in the Octonauts, even as Ed feels a jolt of something like relief.

He glances up at Cameron a little too quickly. "You-I-would you like a cup of tea?"

Cameron blinks, hesitating for the briefest moment-only Ed would have noticed-but then says "Yes-thank you very much-"

The grin's back but so's that softer look and somehow Ed finds it a little difficult to look away. He glances at the book-which he now places carefully on the table-and has to bite his lip at the surge of feeling it sends through him.

It wouldn't do to start reading now, as it wouldn't do for Ed to let his arms do-

Whatever they want to-

Reach out perhaps-

Reach out and-

Well, anyway, it wouldn't do.

Ed doesn't wonder about this, or at least, not any more than he should.

* * *

David watches Ed fuss over the kettle, leaning against the counter. Ed's in a jumper, he'd noticed when the door opened, and socks, and he takes them in again quickly.

Ed gives him a quick glance over one shoulder, colour still in his cheeks. "Milk?"

"Yes, please."

He steps forward to help automatically and his hand brushes Ed's as he reaches forward for a cup. "Where's Daniel?" he asks, having suddenly noticed the absence of Ed's elder son. "And Justine?"

He thinks Ed stills for a moment but then he just carries on making the tea and David thinks he must have imagined it.

"Justine's at work and Daniel's-ah-upstairs, last time I checked." Ed turns to hand David the mug and David takes a sip gratefully. "Thanks."

"He's-ah-" Ed's eyes flicker to David's and then away and for a moment David isn't sure Ed's going to continue. But then Ed takes a sip of his own tea and says a little too quickly "I don't think he's too thrilled with either of us right now, to be honest."

David takes a sip out of his own mug and then pauses, eyes catching sight of a little movement at the doorway.

Daniel's little face pokes itself out from behind the door frame, withdraws, then reappears.

"Hello" David says with a grin and Ed turns a little too fast to see his young son watching him quietly.

Daniel doesn't say anything, but just stares up out of big blue eyes, thumb at his mouth.

"Did you see Sam and Florence, sweetie?" Ed asks and Daniel just nods quietly.

"Are you hungry?"

Daniel just looks. David watches the movement of Ed's throat as he swallows.

"I was going to make some toast-"

Daniel is spinning a toy penguin between his fingers and it's then that David says, on a whim, "What's that, then?"

He ducks down, and Daniel meets his eyes a little warily, chewing at his thumbnail, still clutching the toy with his other hand.

David senses Ed draw in a breath and it's then that Daniel says, almost whispering, "Octonauts."

"Octonauts?" David crouches down to examine the toy and Daniel chews at his lip, eyes not moving from David's face. "Now, I've _heard _about the Octonauts. Who's this, then?"

"Peso." Daniel's voice is hesitant, almost suspicious, but slowly he passes the toy penguin to David, lets him examine it a little more closely.

"Ah, I see. Is Peso your favourite?"

Daniel nods and then hiccups. "O-one of-"

"One of them?"

Daniel nods, eyes big and blue over his thumb.

"And who are the others?"

"Captain Barnacles." Daniel tilts his head, a little smile peeking out as David looks at the toy. "And Tweak and Professor Inkling-"

David lifts Daniel as he talks and Daniel keeps chatting, his voice louder now, his arms finding their way around David's neck.

"And Captain Baranacles and Professor Inkling are Sam's favourites too, and Peso, and-"

David shifts him round carefully, Daniel's head nestling in his shoulder. Daniel's chattering happily now and he holds onto David's hand, fingers wrapped around the toy penguin together.

David turns to look at Ed then, even as Daniel chatters, one hand scrabbling at the back of David's neck. One of David's hands rubs Daniel's back, and his eyes find Ed's.

Ed's watching them both-just watching. His head's tilted, a slight smile at his mouth. His eyes are a little softer than usual-and something else too. Something sadder.

David realises suddenly that he's smiling back, even as Daniel's chatter fills his ears. Ed's eyes meet his and then they seem to soften even more so there's a look that's almost-

"Toast" is what Daniel says and then "I'm hungry." He doesn't look at his father but he holds onto David.

"We can sort that out, sweetie." Ed's voice is a little quick and Daniel still doesn't turn to look at him, but he smiles a little.

* * *

Daniel still isn't speaking much when they return to the living room but when David sets him down, he scrambles onto the couch between Sam and Florence silently as Ed puts the plate of toast and jam on the table in front of them.

"Hungry, Florence?" David grins as Flo's eyes stretch comically wide at Ed's words, as she stares at the toast.

"Is it _jam?"_

"Yes, it's _jam."_ Ed repeats the word with exactly the same intonation and a slightly unpracticed ruffle to Florence's hair. David feels the grin grow a little and feels something else, too-something like warmth as he watches Ed fuss over his own daughter, something that makes his heart beat pleasantly fast.

"No peanut butter?" Florence looks at Ed questioningly and he shakes his head. "No, no peanut butter."

"Good." Florence takes a little bite of toast, having satisfied herself of the lack of peanut butter.

"Sam's allergic" Ed tells David in an undertone as he joins him at the dining table. "We found out when he was two."

"Poor mite."

"It wasn't pleasant, Zia said" Ed agrees and David is careful not to wince at the last two words as he takes a bite of his own toast. "I mean, when he first started having attacks-but once we knew what it was-"

"It's not. Pleasant."

Their eyes meet for a moment and something in Ed's softens. "I know."

They share a look for another moment and then David takes another bite of toast.

"How come Justine had to work?" he asks, eyes drifting round the room. Something about it strikes him as off, but he can't quite place his finger on it.

Ed's stilled a little but then he says "It's a difficult case. I th-suppose she needs to give it her full focu-th-s."

David chooses his words carefully, even as a flush rises to Ed's cheeks at the lisp. "That's a shame."

Ed smiles, but something about the look is smaller, tighter. "I don't mind."

"No, but-" David immediately regrets the "but"-"See-I suppose-well, it's your _birthday-and_ Christmas Eve-"

For some reason, he's stumbling a little which never happens and of course, it would be _Miliband _who-

"I th-suppose" Miliband says a little more slowly, his fingers curling around a mug. "There have to be priorities."

"Yes, but-"

David has no idea why he's arguing the point.

"I just-it's _Christmas Eve._ And your birthday." It seems an almost stupidly obvious statement.

"Yeth-yes, but it's an important cath-case-"

"But-aren't-"

_Aren't you important?_

(He doesn't quite say that.)

Miliband looks at him a little more sharply this time. "Her work'th-s important" he says, fingers whitening around the mug. "She's always prioritised it."

"Yes, but-"

"It'th-s really fine, David."

It's the use of his first name, more than anything, that throws David off.

Ed isn't looking at him now, eyes on the plate. David waits a moment, before he says "All right, then."

Ed nods. A pause follows.

"Sorry" David offers, somewhat awkwardly. _(Awkwardly._ When was the last time he did anything _awkwardly?)_

There's a moment of silence and then Ed says "No, it'th-no, it'th-s fine, I-you didn't mean-"

He takes another gulp of tea and then says "It'ths juth-st-something you have to do."

"Why?"

David has no idea why he asks this question.

He's not used to having no idea why he asks a question-

Ed snorts. "Because that's something that happens when people have printh-principleth-s."

Ah.

He thinks he sees something like a wince pass over Miliband's face, but he takes a sip of his tea to hide his own expression.

Miliband opens his mouth, but David's already speaking. "Very commendable" he says, reaching for a slice of toast. "Especially when it leaves you unhappy."

The words bite more than they should. Miliband's eyes meet his with a jolt that feels like an electric shock.

"I'm not unhappy." Miliband's voice could, if one wasn't listening properly, sound exactly the same as it did a few minutes ago, but to David, it doesn't.

David's about to ask something else, but stops when he sees the tension in Ed's jaw.

"You're better than me, then" is all he says, but he's thinking as hard as he can _You must be more unhappy than me._

Ed's head jerks a little, then, and he says, voice a little too sharp, "Well, maybe I'm juth-st-"

They sit, looking at each other, the silence catching and dragging between them. Behind them, music shrieks from the TV, the room shattered with the too loud, too bright laughter of a cartoon world.

Ed's hand moves suddenly, one of those quick movements that makes David smile. "Sorry. It'th-s just-"

It's then that it suddenly clicks what's been lurking in the back of David's mind, what seems a little off about the room. No matter how many times he looks around it, he can't find a single photo of either Daniel or Sam.

"It's fine." David says it too quickly because something in Ed's voice is tight and little and uncertain. Something about the _It'th-s just- _doesn't sound certain and David's not quite sure whether he wants to hear that.

So he does what he's learnt, what he's best at.

"I thought you were fairly certain of that, anyway" he offers, letting a smile flicker out. "That you're better than me."

Ed stares at him for a moment, and then an answering smile peeks out. "Oh. Yeah. Ha."

They look at each other for another moment and then laughter struggles out of David's mouth and a snort of mirth breaks from Ed's.

They both laugh a little too hard for a few moments and then David says "So what birthday plans have you got?"

As he says it, he thinks of his own birthday a couple of months ago-how the kids had crowded round him, piling onto his lap as they handed him his presents, with kisses on the cheek and Florence's arms around his neck and a poem Nancy had written for him, which he'd nodded his way through and hadn't even had to try to look impressed by, how Sam had taken him out for dinner and afterwards, both of them a little tipsy, his hands had braided themselves in Samantha's hair, her eyes fluttering closed as he moved into her, his mouth pressing into her shoulder afterwards, both of them hot, their skin slick, and Samantha's lipstick smearing his collarbone.

Somehow, thinking of that now, here, with Miliband, leaves him suddenly unable to meet the other man's eyes, because he suddenly imagines, almost without meaning to, Miliband spending a similar evening and the thought sends a rush of heat through his chest, a lurching sensation in his ribs, something like being on a roller-coaster-

It's stupid. It's Christmas Eve, for God's sake-if they're anything like him and Sam, the two of them will be spending their evening counting down the minutes until the kids are asleep, then trying to scatter about presents without summoning children, security or both, before collapsing into bed utterly exhausted by their attempts at subterfuge, only to be shaken awake at a crack of dawn only the gods should see by a disturbingly bright-eyed child.

"Not much-" He suddenly becomes aware that Ed is speaking. "It's Christmas Eve-probably just trying to get the kids to bed and perth-suade them to th-stay there, I think-"

David mentally prods himself. Obviously, he tells himself firmly. Obviously. Miliband won't be-

What would that even be- creeps into his mind before he knows what he's thinking, and then he's picturing, almost before he realises-Miliband's back arching a little, his cheeks flushed-he wouldn't be able to shut up, knowing bloody Miliband, little sounds escaping the whole time-that lisp would probably creep through, probably more than usual-

His fingers tighten on the table. His cheeks feel suddenly far warmer than usual.

What on _earth-_

Miliband's dark eyes are lingering on his, narrowing a little. "Are-"

David clears his throat loudly. "So, you're not one whom believes in the excesses of birthday celebrations, I take it?" he says lightly-and it is lightly, he tells himself. That's all the question is.

Miliband's head tilts, as he chews his lip. "I suppose-maybe not-" He shrugs. "I mean-I suppose we never really made a big deal of it when David and I were kids."

David feels a pang. It must show on his face because Ed bites his lip. "I take it you disagree?"

David laughs, a sudden memory prickling into life at the back of his brain, of himself and four other boys, laughing a little too hard, clinking together their first glasses of champagne.

"Oh, I suppose-well. Birthdays were made rather a fuss of at school."

"Bullingdon Club pay for a helicopter-"

"Not the Bullingdon Club."

"So there was a helicopter?"

"No." David bites into a crust. "There was a Concorde."

Ed splutters out his tea. "You're joking."

David shakes his head. " A friend's birthday" he says, grinning as Ed grabs for the napkin, dabbing at his chin. "When we were eleven-"

_"Eleven-"_

"It was his parents' idea." David takes a look over his shoulder at the three children, all of whom are absorbed in the TV. "Though they didn't turn up, as a matter of fact, until the second week."

Ed splutters once again. "The second _week-"_

David doesn't stop smiling. "Interesting that you picked up on that and not the fact his parents weren't present."

Miliband opens his mouth, then closes it again.

"Where were they?"

"I've no idea. They just....didn't turn up. Until we went to their house for the second week."

Ed doesn't make any comments on the "second week" aspect this time. Instead, he looks at David and then says "Where did you go?"

"United States." David takes another gulp of tea. "He was American; parents sent him to school in England."

Something like a flinch passes over Miliband's face. "How old was he? When they sent him over here?"

"About six, I think. Maybe seven."

Miliband's eyes don't move from his, but his lips part and then compress again.

David tries for a laugh. It doesn't come as easily as it should. "Maybe that's why they gave him a holiday."

Ed doesn't look away, but his lips purse a little as he replies, simply, "Maybe."

There's another short silence before Ed asks "Who was looking after you?"

"Their nanny. And a teacher, if I recall correctly-"

"A teacher?" Ed's brow furrows. "Where did you go?"

"Sightseeing, mostly. World Trade Centre, Washington, Disneyland. We went to Las Vegas, but we couldn't leave the hotel-too bloody hot. And then to his house in San Francisco for a week. I think his parents arrived a few days after-"

"What were they doing?"

David feels his brow furrow. "I can't remember, to be honest. I think it was quite usual for them. They never came to see him at school, as I recall-"

He takes another bite of toast and, chewing, looks up to find Ed watching him. He swallows, offers a smile back.

Ed doesn't smile. Instead, he just says "Was it a good trip?"

David grins a little. "Yes. As I recall. A little odd, though, to see Peter with his champagne." He laughs, takes another gulp of tea. "He'd been thrilled to get his teddy back, a few hours before."

"Peter?"

"The boy whose party it was."

"Oh. Thrilled to get his teddy-?"

"Oh, they took toys away." David reaches for his mug again, casting a glance at the children to make sure no-one's managed to tip the toast over someone else's head. "Thought it would toughen us up. I mean, our parents would send us with them, but the staff took them away on the first night. Peter never liked it, I remember-he was only six or so, the first time, I suppose-"

He still remembers it now, them peeling Peter's fingers free from his teddy. The coaxing softness of the words _-Come on now, be a big boy-_horribly gentle, as they wrenched the little boy's fingers back, Peter's fingers aching and stained purple with bruises the next day.

He becomes aware that Miliband hasn't spoken in almost a whole minute so he looks back, puzzled. When he does, he finds Miliband watching him in a decidedly odd way.

David's about to ask "What?" when Miliband says, voice oddly smaller than usual, "Everyone's?"

David keeps his voice light. "Yes, even mine."

Miliband doesn't say anything, just looks at him, and because David hates people looking at him like that, he says with a laugh "We should probably have got used to it after the first few nights. First nights back, you'd always get-" He waves a hand. "You know-crying, all that sort of thing-"

Miliband flinches, or something close to flinching. But then he just looks at David and then draws in a breath and says "That's-"

David's about to open this mouth to stop whatever Miliband's about to say-

But then Ed's teeth nibble at his lip for a moment and he says "Did-"

He hesitates and his eyes meet David's and for a moment, a question hovers between them.

And then Sam says "Daddy-" and they both look round a little too quickly and David doesn't wonder why his heart's pounding.

For a moment, his fingers itch to scratch at his ribs, under his shirt, at the skin, but they don't.

Of course, these days, they don't.

* * *

Flo has never watched the Octonauts but Sam's telling her what it's about while their daddies talk at the table. Sam's telling her why Barnacles is the best Octonaut and Professor Inkling is the cleverest and Flo is storing it all up in her head to tell Mummy when she gets home.

She likes Sam. He's nice and quiet and his hair is dark and curly, which is very nice and she could get married to him when they're older if they have enough of what Daddy calls invent-ments. (He always looks at Uncle George and Uncle George always says something about how the government could do with more invent-ments, which makes Daddy laugh and Flo doesn't know why.)

Sam's telling her because Daniel's quiet today. Daniel's a year bigger than Flo and sometimes he talks _lots_ and_ lots_, so Sam goes quiet, and other times _he's _quiet-

When Daniel's quiet, Sam speaks more, which Flo likes, though Sam's words are sometimes mangled and crash and run into each other like children do in the playground. Flo still likes it, though.

Daniel's very quiet, today.

But now Sam's waving at his daddy and talking about Lego and Mr Ed Miliband's looking at him because he's Sam's daddy and her daddy's smiling-

They sit on the floor and she and Sam are building the house they're going to live in. Daniel is allowed to join in because one day they're all going to live together and Nancy and Elwen can too, except Nancy's going to be writing what she says are op-e-rahs, and Elwen's going to be playing football-

"Why don't you put this there?" her daddy's saying, tapping the tower she and Sam are building. Flo moves the block carefully and Sam helps her.

Daniel's holding onto Flo's daddy's shoulders now and her daddy pats his hand. "Where do you think it should go, Daniel?"

Mr. Ed Miliband ruffles Sam's curls and then chucks her under the chin. Flo's tongue pokes out and Daddy taps her hand. "Flo."

"Wasn't _me."_ She holds Sam's hand. "My tongue came to _life."_

Daddy and Mr. Ed Miliband are laughing and Sam butts her shoulder gently with his head.

"I don't think it did-" Mr. Ed Miliband's cuddling her now and he pulls her back gently so she's half-sitting on his knee, the same way Daddy does. "I don't think it did-"

Daddy's laughing and chucking her under the chin and then Mr. Ed Miliband's holding her hand and Daddy's ruffling Sam's hair and tapping Daniel's hand.

Daniel's pushing his face into Flo's daddy's hair and Daddy cups his cheek. "Look what your daddy's doing, Daniel-"

Mr. Ed Miliband looks at Daddy and they both smile at each other. It's different from the way Daddy smiles when he's on the television doing big grown-up speeches-it's a bit like the way Daddy looks at her and Mummy and Nancy and Elwen, but different too, and Flo doesn't know why-

Flo reaches up to poke at Daddy's smile and then at Sam's. Sam lets her, as she tries to push his mouth into a smile.

_"Flo-"_ Daddy has hold of her hand and his voice has gone all low and nearly cross-"Don't jab, no-_no-"_

Flo's trying to get her hand away, because she _wasn't_ jabbing, she was trying to make Sam _smile-_

Mr Ed Miliband says something about building homes for the future chaos and Flo doesn't know what that is except the future is what's going to happen and home's where you live, though they live in different places and Nancy says where they live's the pretend home-

And Daddy's laughing, with his chest shaking, and saying that you'd know about chaos, and he's just smiling all over his face, and Flo doesn't know who he's talking to but he's smiling at Mr Ed Miliband-

"Where's the-" Daniel's finger's jabbing now, at the bottom of their building. "Where's the basement?"

"Donave basement-" says Sam, who's holding Flo's hand.

"You need a basement-" Daniel knocks his daddy's hand, which was reaching for Sam's. "To eat dinner in with Zia."

Mr. Ed Miliband stops moving for a moment and he has a strange look on his face and Flo's looking at him when Daddy hands her a little figure which she recognizes from the Octonauts and it's Barnacles, it's Captain Barnacles, and she wants to look at him better-

Mr Ed Miliband is saying something low and quiet but his voice is firm and nearly cross like Daddy's was, and then Daniel's hand flies up and nearly knocks their tower but Sam catches it-

Flo cries before she can stop herself because it's their tower and they've built it and Sam looks worried and her eyes are scrunched up and he rubs his curls against her cheek and she's making them wet-

Daddy reaches out then and lifts her, pulling her gently onto his knee, and taking Sam's hand too, tucking him under his arm on the couch. He's shushing her, making nice soft shushes into her hair and she snuffles, her eyes and voice all damp and crumpled, until the air stops stuttering when she tries to breathe in and Daddy's hand is against her cheek, gently and then she hears Daniel's voice, all high and angry, and Flo pictures it crashing into his daddy's head. "It's true, it's true-_true_, you and Mummy make us eat in the basement-"

"Daniel-"

Daniel tears his sleeve away from where Mr Ed Miliband's trying to hold it and his voice is loud and crashing and angry-"I don't _want _Mummy to come home!"

He runs out of the door and it slams against the wall and his daddy just stares after him.

Flo waits for him to shout, maybe, or tell Daniel to get back here _now_ and go and sit on the naughty step, but he stares and then his hand runs through his hair and his eyes are big and sad and Flo thinks he looks like a little boy.

"Dani-" he starts and then he looks at her daddy and her daddy's looking back at him-and her daddy-her daddy's eyes have gone all soft and he's looking at Mr Ed Miliband all softly too and Flo doesn't know-

"Ed" her daddy says and then "Flo, Sam-come and have a look at this-"

He hands them Professor Inkling and Sam's breath gets all sharp and happy and he tells Flo that this is the cleverest, even though he told her before and Flo wants to count all the octopus legs again, and their daddies are talking in grown-up whispers and when Flo looks round again, Mr. Ed Miliband has gone out of the room and Daddy's putting another brick on top of their house.

Sam's quiet, reaching out to hold onto Daddy's hand and moving it to another brick and then he says "Daniel right."

"Sorry, Sam?" Daddy has his head tilted to one side, his eyes with that look he gets when he's not sure what you've said.

"Daniel _right-"_ Sam reaches for another block. "We do have to eat-to eat-down in the _basement."_

Flo looks up. "Don't you eat with your mummy and daddy?" because that's what she does, and Nancy and Elwen, Mummy and Daddy always have dinner with them, except when Daddy's away and even then Mummy always does and if she's away Daddy's there, and sometimes Gita-

Sam shakes his head. "With-" He says something Flo doesn't hear and when she leans forward, he says "Nanny."

"Nanny comes to _our _house, she's Daddy's mummy-"

"No, darling-" Daddy kisses her cheek. "Like Gita."

"Oh-" because Flo likes Gita, she does,_ lots_, but Gita doesn't look after them all the time and even though she's always there, she only sometimes gets them from school when Mummy has to run into work, and she doesn't eat dinner with them, or when she does, she's eating with Mummy and Daddy, too, and Mummy gets them from school and always takes them, and Mummy's nearly always there when they get home, sometimes Daddy too-

"Why not your mummy and dady?" she asks and Sam says, though Daddy takes in a breath like he wants to say something, "Not back til we sleep." He reaches for another brick.

"Not back until you sleep?" Flo stares at Sam, because that must mean they don't see their mummy and daddy _at all_ some days and Flo has a big hug and kiss with Mummy every night and Daddy, and when one of them's away, they get to give themselves a big hug from Mummy or Daddy and then when they get home, they get a bigger one, and they get lots in the day too-

Sam nods and Flo says "Why?"

Sam shrugs, but then Daddy says "I think-" and he's looking at Sam very carefully, the way Daddy always does when he wants you to _listen. _"I think it might be because Sam and Daniel's mummy and daddy do a lot of work-"

"They do lots of work-" Sam reaches out and lifts up another brick. "Daniel says-Daniel says like work better than _us."_

Daddy's eyes go all wide and Flo says "You mean your mummy and daddy like being-being at work more than you-"

"No, Florence-" Daddy says but Sam looks at her with his eyes all big and dark and nods.

Daddy's saying something but then Mr Ed Miliband's coming back into the room and Daniel's with him, with his face all scowling and sad, and Daddy stops talking then.

Mr. Ed Miliband sits down on the arm and Flo wonders for a second if Daniel's going to have to say sorry and promise not to do it again, but he just stands there quietly and then pulls himself up on the couch, pushing his chin into his hands.

Sam's showing her Peso again and Daddy and Mr. Ed Miliband are talking in low voices. Daddy's looking at Daniel for a little second and then Flo's looking at Peso and turning him over and over between her fingers, and his beak tickles.

When she looks up again, Sam's looking at her and Daniel's looking at her daddy and when Flo looks round, she's looking at her daddy too, and Mr Ed Miliband, and her daddy's hand, which has his fingers all curling around Mr Ed Miliband's sleeve.

* * *

Ed finds Daniel on the stairs, kicking the wall.

"Daniel-" He stops at the bottom, then decides that standing below his son might negate the point. "That was rude."

_"You're_ rude." Daniel's words are shouted, in little shards, wet and raw and crumpled. _"You're_ rude because you're not _there."_

Ed's suddenly thankful that he closed the door. He stops, his hand on the bannister, one step below his son and he clears his throat, trying to sound firm.

"Daniel-Mummy and I do want to be there-"

"No, you _don't!"_ Daniel shouts the words so loudly that Ed feels himself flinch.

"Daniel-"

"I don't want Mummy to come home!" Daniel spits, his little face flushed and contorted. "Mummy's _never _home!"

Ed feels his voice well in his throat and curls his hands into fists, counting slowly. "Daniel-" He takes a seat on the step next to his son. "Mummy's_ working_-she's busy-"

"All my friends' mummies work-work and they're all busy-" Daniel's eyes are hot and bright and Ed shouldn't flinch back from his own son. He really shouldn't.

"They're all at home. And their daddies." Daniel pushes out his lip and wraps his arms around his knees more tightly, flinching away when Ed tries to reach for him. "You _never_ are."

"Daniel." Ed tries to keep his voice level, tries not to snap but they've_ told_ the boys, they've told them so many times-"You know how important our work is-"

Daniel mutters something.

"What was that?"

"You don't think _we're_ important." Daniel kicks the wall again. "You think work's important-you don't think _we're_ important-" He pushes his face into his hands.

Ed takes a moment to swallow hard. "Daniel" he says, when he can trust himself to speak. "We don't think you're not important-"

"Yes you _do!"_ Daniel's shouting again and Ed grabs his hand. _"Stop it-"_

"You don't _care-"_ Daniel gives the wall one more kick, then hides his face again. "You _don't-"_

"I do care." Ed tries to keep his tone level and isn't sure how well he succeeds. "I do care but you know I have to care about work because-" He searches for a way to explain it. "It helps us to make things better for people."

"You're not here." Daniel curls away from him and something aches in Ed's chest.

He stares at his hands for a moment and then says quietly "I'll try to-Daniel-" He turns to look at his son. "I'll try to-I'll-we can do more things, sweetie-"

Daniel looks at him then, with his head on one side. "But you're not going to _promise."_

Daniel is five years, six months, three weeks and one day old.

He shouldn't know when his father isn't going to promise, Ed reflects briefly, sadly, and he shouldn't know it's already too late for that.

"Daniel-" he says and he doesn't answer the question.

It's horribly Cameron-ish of him, but he doesn't.

"Daniel" he says and he finds himself touching his son's sleeve carefully, as if asking for permission. "You know-you know me and Mummy love you and Sam both very much."

Daniel shrugs.

Ed swallows. "Well, we do."

Daniel doesn't bother shrugging this time.

"And-well, it's a busy time. You know there's an election-"

"You and Mr. Cameron are friends-" says Daniel suddenly, sharply.

Ed blinks. "Well. Yes. We are-"

"And you're trying to _beat_ him in the election."

Ed frowns at the sudden turn in the conversation. "Yes."

Daniel gives him another sharp look. "I don't try to beat my friends" he says, and then looks away and his words sting more than his son can possibly mean because suddenly he can hear Douglas' words, passed onto him by a friend of a friend, smacking him in the face all over again-_I couldn't try to beat my brother._

"Well-" he says, after a long moment. "We're not those types of friends."

Daniel looks at him, blue-grey eyes big and oddly contemplative. Daniel doesn't look much like his father, Ed thinks sometimes. Sam looks like him-astonishingly so-

(and still more like David)

(though that's something else that stings that shouldn't)

but Daniel doesn't, not much, and never did. He looks a little like Justine. But even there, the resemblance isn't strong.

"What type of friends, then?" Daniel asks, and Ed opens his mouth and then closes it again.

Because he doesn't _know-_

(never _knows)_

What type of-

(Friends?)

_I like you. Miliband_, echoing in the back of his skull, sending warmth back into his cheeks.

He looks back at Daniel. "We're friends" he says, stumbling over the words. "But-we just disagree-"

Daniel looks at him and then looks away and then breathes something about "caring."

"What?"

Daniel shoots him a look from under heavy brows. "Nothing."

Ed swallows. "That was rude, Daniel" he tells him, after a few moments, and Daniel shrugs.

"Yes" he says simply, and then meets his father's eyes with a long, defiant look, and it's Ed who looks away.

He chooses not to notice he hasn't answered Daniel's question.

(He chooses not to wonder if he can.)

* * *

He should make his son apologise, he knows; Justine would insist on it. But when he sees Daniel curling up on the armchair a few moments later, he can't face the battle and a voice jibes, a little snidely, that if Justine's so keen on getting the boys to apologise, she should occasionally be here to make them do it.

He blinks but Cameron's looking at him and he sits down on the arm of the couch, while Cameron just looks for a moment, juggling Flo a little. "All right?" he says amiably handing Florence a small toy, which successfully distracts her and Sam.

He nods and then, given he's apparently given up on Justine's parenting methods, says "Sorry."

"What for?"

"Daniel's just-" Ed sighs and glances quickly at his elder son, who's staring at the floor. "I think us working-it's having more of an effect on them than we realised."

"Sam said something about them eating in the basement."

Ed sighs. "It's _not_ a basement. It's-our nanny lives downstairs-it's a basement_ flat_. She's the one who looks after them when they get in from school. And dinner."

"Until you get home?"

"Yes. Well-we-we don't always get home early." This is an understatement-Ed has to strain his memory for the last time he got home when it was still light.

And even then, he can't remember it.

"Ah." That's all Cameron says and Ed feels an irrational prickling of annoyance, Cameron's words from earlier hovering.

"it's not through choice" he says, a little more loudly than he means to, and then "I mean-it's not entirely through choice."

Cameron's still watching him and Ed catches sight of the book on the table. He winces.

"Sorry" he says again, even as Cameron gives Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

He waits for the expected comeback, the polished line. When it doesn't come, he looks up to find Cameron just watching him.

Cameron just looks and then says "It's fine."

He reaches out and his hand hovers for a moment, both of them watching as if they're not sure what it might do, and then he pats Ed's sleeve, a little awkwardly.

Ed can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks and his heartbeat is a little more rapid, a little more urgent than usual. He glances up at Cameron, and sees Cameron looking back at him, a little-well-

Almost a little _uncertainly._

Cameron's never uncertain.

Ed stares back at him and swallows, unsure what to say. Or if he should say anything at all.

"Dad?"

They both look round to see Sam reaching for another block. "When Father Christmas-Christmas comes, will he be able to get out-out-get out again?"

"Of course. " Ed falls into his line of parenting, because it's easier, better. He can do this, tell stories. He can do this, answer questions.

Answer_ these_ questions.

"You know Father Christmas will get out again" he says to Sam, who's got his head tilted, dark eyes fixed on them both. "He'll go out the window or the back door-"

"Father Christmas finds a way" Cameron says, nodding. "That's why he's Father Christmas."

Florence taps Sam's arm. "Father Christmas can get past-get past all Daddy's cameras" she tells him in a whisper. "So it'll all be all _right."_

Ed's eyes flicker to Cameron's and he feels his own grin appear as he catches sight of the one peeking out at David's mouth. They smile and his hand seems to shiver pleasantly under the pressure of Cameron's. David moves his a little.

It's then that Ed looks down at the same moment as Cameron does. They look together at Cameron's hand covering his, fingers playing with Ed's sleeve.

Neither of them knows what to do; Ed can tell, somehow. So, they both pull back a little, fumbling, David reaching for his tea and Ed leaning to examine Flo and Sam's house.

Ed's cheeks are too warm and he can't look at Cameron for a few moments, and then there's Sam's voice, "Is Nanny coming?"

It takes Ed a few moments to realise that this question is addressed to him.

"Ah-no, no, Nanny's-she'll be coming tomorrow, sweetie."

"For Christmas-" says Sam and then Daniel says "Uncle David won't come." The words jab viciously, though Daniel's staring at the TV screen as though barely hearing his own words.

Ed can't look at Cameron. He can't, so he tests his own words. "No, he won't be-"

"Uncle David sent Daddy an e-an email" is what Daniel says next and Ed senses rather than sees Cameron stiffen.

"Yes, he did" is all he can say.

His heart's pounding. His heart's pounding and all he can think, angrily and irrationally, is that his son _knows_ somehow what he's doing, and that's stupid, it's ridiculous, but-

"Well-" and he can't bear Cameron's look, the gaze he can feel resting heavy on his face, because he doesn't know which he'd prefer, for it to be a smirk or be pitying.

Sam's looking at him, eyes big and dark and confused, and God, it's his job to say something light-hearted here, to make them laugh, but he's not, he's not-

"That's nice" is all Cameron says, and Ed wants to curl up so Cameron can't see him and the irrational urge leaps up in his chest to_ grab_ his brother somehow, to grab him and _shake_ him, for all of this-

"Can you-can you fight Uncle David?" Sam asks and Flo giggles and oh _God-_

"You know-" Cameron's voice is airy, as if the thought's just occurred to him. "My brother used to fight me."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in and then Ed lifts his gaze to hear Sam asking "Did-did you _win-", _and Flo scrambles happily onto her father's knee as she says "Was it because Uncle Alex is so _big-"_ She holds out her hands to indicate the approximate size of Uncle Alex, and David kisses her head, standing up and swinging her into the air.

"Maybe it was." Cameron sinks down again, Sam flopping against him while Florence curls onto his knee. Daniel turns round in the chair to face them. "Either way, he liked to win."

"But you're _clevererer _than Uncle Alex-" Florence squawks indignantly, and Cameron laughs. "Well, he is _quite _a clever man, sweetheart." He brushes his daughter's hair back behind her ears. "He is a lawyer-"

"But he _beat _you-"

"Well, we were little" Cameron concedes affably, tidying his daughter's hair. "He was a lot bigger to wrestle."

Sam's chewing his lip as he listens and Ed thinks at first it's just that that makes him slide down off the arm to join Cameron on the couch.

Sam's eyes linger on his father and then suddenly he brightens, tugging at Cameron's trousers. "Did, did-did, could your-" He's laughing and Florence does the same, their laughter entwining, young and high and sweetly mischievous.

"Would you-" Sam's curling up next to Cameron now. "Would you ever wrestle _my _dad?"

It might be Ed's imagination but he thinks Cameron almost tenses for a moment. "Well-" He laughs and Ed does too, a little too high-pitched.

"I'm sure your daddy wouldn't want to wrestle me" Cameron's saying, chucking Sam under the chin. His voice is light, gentle, but he flashes Ed a quick grin, the same one he gives in PMQs when he knows Ed's about to start laughing and can't stop.

"Is it because you're bigger?" says Daniel from the armchair and Cameron laughs and then, with a shake of the head, says quietly enough that only Ed can hear "Not for me."

Ed arches an eyebrow, but he's distracted by Sam tugging at his sleeve. "Daddy, Daddy-would you wrestle Mr. Cameron?"

Ed laughs again and again the sound's a little high-pitched. His face feels a little warm. "Mr. Cameron wouldn't want to wrestle-wrestle me-"

"He didn't say-say that" says Daniel, who's curling further back into the chair.

Ed feels oddly wrong-footed and he's looking at Cameron again before he even realises it. Cameron's looking back at him, that small smile hovering at his mouth.

"Well-" Ed hears his voice waver a little. "Well-" He tries to make the word "No" come out of his mouth.

Somehow, his leg is touching Cameron's. He isn't sure when that happened.

Cameron tilts his head and that's when Florence pipes up. "Daddy-Daddy, wrestle_-wrestle_ Mr. Ed Miliband-"

Sam bursts into a little shriek of high-pitched laughter. Even Daniel turns his head, a tiny smile peeking out.

"Daddy, _wrestle-"_ Sam's tugging at his wrist and suddenly he's staring at Cameron and Cameron's watching him with that smile and then he says "Well, it's your dad's birthday-"

Which is one of those annoyingly ambiguous Cameron statements that could mean anything and Ed wants to tell him so, but instead he says "What does that mean?"

Cameron grins a little. "What do you think?"

"Daddy, wrestle-" Sam's fingers have fastened in Ed's sleeve, tugging at his hand.

"Sam-" Ed's about to explain that he's not going to wrestle, that Cameron isn't going to wrestle, that the very _idea _is silly and-

Cameron dimples at him. "It's up to your daddy" he says, with a grin and the hint of a wink and how bloody _typical_ of Cameron-

"Daddy, please-"

_"Please-"_

Ed looks helplessly back at Cameron and Cameron grins.

Maybe it's Daniel's voce in his head or the fact he's been being sensible all day. Sensibly understanding Justine has to work. Sensibly not shouting at his son when he misbehaves. Sensibly reading his brother's email, tapping out a polite, friendly reply, and sensibly not minding.

Sensibly.

He sighs and turns to look at Cameron. Cameron grins.

"We're not wrestling" is what he says. But he moves an inch closer to Cameron who sits up, his grin deepening the dents under his eyes. "What are we doing, then?"

Ed is suddenly aware that he and Cameron are sitting very, very close together. His eyes flicker to Cameron's mouth before he can stop them and his own mouth is dry. "Not-not-wrestling" he says weakly.

Cameron beams. "Oh. So we're _not-wrestling."_

_"Wrestle." _Sam's clapping his hands together and Florence is giggling, her cheeks flushed, while Daniel watches them with his head on one side.

Cameron gives him a grin." So. Not-wrestling. Care to demonstrate how that works, Miliband?"

Something about Cameron's voice is softer-teasing, daring. Ed bites his lip. But Cameron's grinning and it's that look that always makes Ed want to-_say_ something, _argue_ something, prove him _wrong,_ wipe that bloody _grin-_

"Fine" he says and their knees are brushing and his hands move to grip Cameron's sleeves. "Fine."

Something like surprise flickers across Cameron's face now-an arching of the eyebrows, a slight widening of the eyes-but then he's smiling and he's moving and-

"Well, then-"

Their children's laughter shrieks in their ears and Cameron's hands fasten in Ed's jumper. Ed's heart is beating rather fast, but he's not sure-and then Cameron's hands are higher up his sleeves.

They're holding each other's sleeves and Ed has no idea how to go about this- their _children_ are watching, for God's sake, their voices duelling together-but then Cameron's pushing him gently, and all right, he can do that-

He pushes Cameron back gently and then they're both pushing a little, their hands knotting in each other's shirts and this is-a laugh splutters itself out of Ed's mouth because this is _ridiculous_, so ridiculous, Cameron's the-the bloody _Prime Minister_, for God's sake-

Florence's laughter is high and Sam's giggles are sliding out and then Cameron's hands are holding Ed's jumper and they're both tugging and pushing a little-

Cameron grins at him, then. Their eyes meet and Ed's laughing again, and he doesn't know why, he's not sure why, but Cameron's laughing just a little, his eyes crinkling, and then Flo lets out a little shriek as Ed pulls and Cameron pushes and then they both fall backwards.

The childrens' laughter is rioting and high and happy. That's the first thing Ed thinks as his head sinks into a cushion.

The second thing is that Cameron's a little out of breath and his hands are pinning-gently, but pinning-Ed's shoulders.

The third thing is that Cameron's somehow ended up between his legs, almost on top of him.

Cameron's staring down at him with a grin and Ed laughs again but he can feel Cameron's breath, a little unsteady, on his forehead and every time he wriggles, they're pushed together, so for a moment, his waist is pressing against Cameron's stomach. It sends a strange shiver through him and he bites his lip without meaning to.

Cameron smirks at him and Ed wriggles harder and this time, with his childrens' laughter in his ears he pushes back up, twisting himself against Cameron. Cameron laughs and they're still keeping it gentle but-

Ed's heart is pounding and it's then that he rears up a little and Cameron falls forward and then-

Cameron's chin is digging into Ed's shoulder. His cheek is warm where it's pressed against Ed's skin. Ed's head turns and his nose presses into Cameron's hair.

Cameron lifts his head. The children are laughing. Cameron's looking at him. His weight is pressing Ed gently into the couch.

Ed's heart's too fast and the cushion's sinking under his head and Cameron's eyes are very blue, he notices. There are bags under them, barely noticeable, and Ed can see the few dents of age on Cameron's skin, but he-he keeps looking and there's a strange lurch in his chest at the same time, as a thought pops into his head before he can grasp the words; _God, you look good like this._

Ed freezes. Cameron's looking at him and he's blushing, he knows it, can feel the heat in his face and he looks away as if that'll stop Cameron seeing that he likes-

Likes-

Likes _what?_

It's _Cameron-_

"Daddy, Daddy-who won-"

Flo's tugging at her father's shirt and Cameron starts a little. It's then that Ed realises that Cameron hasn't looked away from him, either.

The weight of him somehow isn't unpleasant and Ed can smell soap and that aftershave and he almost wants to just breathe it in, bury his face closer-

He blinks, but then Cameron's leaning up a little and saying "I'm fairly certain that's a draw actually, Miliband."

Ed blinks. "What?"

Cameron grins down at him. "Well. It _is _your birthday-"

Ed's breathless and he's not sure why. It takes him a moment to lever himself up on his elbows.

"I don't need a conth-concession if that's what you're worried about" is what he eventually manages, his voice a little lower than it should be.

Cameron just grins at him and then suddenly leans down again. Ed freezes, his eyes moving to Cameron's mouth, his heart fluttering like it's trying to wriggle out of his chest.

"That could be the definition of famous last words, Miliband-" Cameron laughs a little and the sound vibrates through both their chests, seeming to curl under Ed's ribs, tickling even as Cameron shifts a little so that their hearts beat awkwardly against one another.

Cameron's still smiling but there's something softer in the look, something gentle and oddly serious.

Ed looks back at him, heart thumping. For a moment, he thinks Cameron leans an inch closer.

Then his hand moves and then Flo's voice says "Draw means both won-"

There's a moment where his eyes meet Cameron's again and they both stare. As if he's waiting for Cameron to answer a question or Cameron's waiting for him to-

Cameron sits up slowly, levering himself off Ed. Ed does the same, feeling his cheeks are flushed, something like a smile at his mouth.

(He thinks it's a smile. It's something like that.)

Sam's saying something and it's only then that Ed realises he isn't concentrating. Instead, he's looking at Cameron, who's cuddling Flo, with Daniel leaning into his side.

"What was that, sweetie?"

Sam nestles into his chest. "You and Mr David Cam-e-ron can do the same thing at 'lection, you can draw-"

A smile twitches at the corner of Cameron's mouth and Ed laughs. "Sweetie-"

He stops because that's something that he can't quite answer lightly and that thought sends a pang through him.

Cameron glances up, then, and says "We could always make a pact, if you're that concerned, Miliband-"

Ed meets his eyes. "Is that a conth-cession of defeat, Prime Minith-Minister?"

Cameron smirks. Ed can't help but do the same and watching Cameron's hand rubbing Flo's back, Ed feels a pang of something else-something that's almost sharp, but too gentle-almost-

_(Tenderfondwhat?)_

There's the jangle of keys in the door. Ed jumps and moves away before he's realised what he's doing-

And then he stops, because-

But Cameron's done exactly the same thing, but-

And then Justine's there in the doorway, her voice light around "Is there a reason there's a blacked-out car outside-"

Two things happen at once; she trails off as she catches sight of Cameron, and Daniel rolls his eyes and folds himself into the armchair, making himself as small as possible.

"Hello, David-"

Cameron's already standing up, with the grin hitching into place, and Ed doesn't feel the usual stab of annoyance.

Or he does, but it's tinged with something that feels like that almost tender feeling, and with a jolt that's something almost like disappointment.

Justine smiles at Sam and Flo, reaches over to chuck her son under the chin, and Ed notices that although Sam doesn't pull away, he doesn't_ look_ at her, really.

Ed can't stop noticing things.

* * *

"How was work?" David asks, reaching for the questions he knows on autopilot, which he tells himself is only polite and not a strange, anxious feeling jabbing away in his chest.

(Miliband had been all angles and sharp lines when David had first felt him squirming about and then his head had fallen forward and for a moment, his nose had been brushing Miliband's neck, and his skin is softer than David would ever have expected.)

The thought sends a skitter of feeling up David's spine.

"Oh, it was fine." Justine's pulling off a scarf now and she reaches for Flo's hand before awkwardly chucking her under the chin. Flo lets her, looking a little bemused. "A client just had an emergency, nearly wanted to pull out of the whole suit we're setting up-"

Flo's reaching for Sam's hand and David finds himself noticing how Ed's hand hovers for a moment, as if he's not sure whether to touch Justine's arm or not. He notices the way Sam's eyes drift past his mother, and then Justine's looking at him expectantly and David's about to launch into an explanation when Ed says a little quickly, "David wanted to deliver a birthday present."

His face relaxes as he picks up the book again, apparently finding himself back on safe ground.

"Oh, fantastic-" Justine turns round with a grin, her eyes widening, and Ed's still staring at the back cover of the book.

"Yeah, it's-" He looks up and his eyes settle on Justine and then move to David.

"It's amazing" he says too quickly, a blush rising to his cheeks, and David opens his mouth and then realises he hasn't actually got much idea what to say.

"Well-you're welcome" he says and it sounds so strange and Ed's eyes find David's then, and-

He just looks at him. Something about the look is typically Miliband-y, all big and dark and as if he's trying to-

Then again, maybe the look is entirely Miliband-y and David just hasn't noticed before.

"Our daddies wrestled" says Flo suddenly and Justine's eyes skitter to her.

"Wrestled?"

"Yes, and it was a _draw-"_

"A draw means both won" Sam explains and Ed laughs but something about the sound's a little tighter. He laughs, but his eyes find David's a little too quickly.

"Well, it's nice your daddies sorted it out-" and Justine catches sight of Daniel, then, curled up on the couch. "No Octonauts, Daniel?"

Daniel sits up, slides off the couch and marches out of the room without another word.

Justine turns to Ed, who says, with a quick glance at David "I think-ah-Daniel might have been less than thrilled about you going into work."

"Well, I said it was an emergency-"

"But still-I don't think he-"

_He's five_, rears suddenly in David's thoughts.

It's then that it occurs to him that this was originally supposed to be a quick visit.

"Right, well-" He squeezes his hands together, reaches for Flo. "We'd better not take up too much of your time-"

"Oh no-" Justine's already got a hand on his arm and David shakes his head. "The mince pies will be out at home and there might be a small diplomatic incident if Flo doesn't get her share-"

Justine laughs and Ed lifts Sam, juggling him onto one hip. "Say goodbye to Mr. Cameron-"

Sam purses his lips and when David leans forward, Sam pushes them into his cheek in a kiss. David presses a kiss into his hair. "Merry Christmas, Sam."

He turns his daughter a little, so that Sam can pat Flo's cheek gently. "Bye, Flo-"

"Bye-bye" Flo tells him prettily and kisses his cheek. Ed laughs and David turns Flo so she can give Justine a quick hug round the neck. "Justine-" David leans in, gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "Merry Christmas-"

"I'll see you to-" Ed nods, lowering Sam to the floor, and as Justine says "Sam, do you want to come into the kitchen and have some toast-", the last sight David has is of Sam pulling himself up onto the couch, completely ignoring his mother's request.

It's in the hallway that Ed says "She just didn't know that-" and then stops, his gaze falling on the stairs.

David follows his gaze and sees Daniel sitting on the steps with his chin in his hands, eyes fixed on the door.

"Daniel-" Ed stops at the bottom of the stairs, eyes on his son. "Do you want to say goodbye to Mr. Cameron?"

David, having some experience with children and tantrums, expects Daniel to either completely ignore him or simply turn and storm off up the stairs, perhaps accompanied by the slamming of a door. But instead, to his surprise, Daniel gets up, runs down the stairs, and half-throws himself at David, hugging him fiercely round the waist.

"Oh-" David lowers Flo gently to the floor and promptly lifts Daniel, who buries his head in David's neck. David presses a kiss to Daniel's cheek and then into his hair, a little surprised at how tightly the little boy's clinging on. "Happy Christmas, Daniel" he says, and then kisses him again. "Hey, it's-we'll be seeing you soon after Christmas-" He has no idea when, but surely they'll arrange something-

It's then that David realises that he's come to anticipate arranging things with Miliband.

But Daniel hugs tighter for a moment, wrapping himself around David's waist like a monkey. He holds his face up and David gives him another kiss on the head. With that, Daniel slithers down and touches Flo's arm. "Bye, Flo, Happy Christmas-"

Justine's voice comes from the kitchen. "Daniel, do you want any toast-"

Daniel turns and marches up the stairs without another word. David counts briefly in his head and this time is proved right on the slamming of the door.

Ed looks up the stairs after his son, but it's Flo who tugs at Ed's jeans. Ed blinks and bends to give her a cuddle. "Bye-bye, Mr. Miliband."

"Bye-bye, Florence-" Ed gives her a kiss on both cheeks. "Have a lovely Christmas."

Flo nestles in under his chin for a moment and David steps forward at the same moment that Ed does."Well-"

Ed nods. There's a short pause.

Then Ed says quickly "Thank you. For the book, really-" He swallows. "I do like it-a lot, actually-"

David grins. "I was under the impression that it was amazing, _actually."_

Ed blushes very, very deeply. David stares at him and Ed avoids his gaze.

It comes out as a mumble. "I meant it."

David swallows. "Good."

Ed's face is crimson. Something about the sight sends another pang through David, and his hand brushes Ed's sleeve.

"Happy birthday" he says, and then "And Merry Christmas for tomorrow."

"Oh. Right. Yes." Ed glances away, then back at David. "Thank you. And-um-you too."

Ed takes a step forward then, and David touches his arm. "Um-well. I just wanted you to know."

Ed's eyes meet his, dark and wide and-David laughs a little breathlessly. "Gosh, must be strange celebrating your birthday with Christmas lights. And ivy and holly."

Ed laughs. "Is that empathy, Prime Minister-"

"You really must be the most terrible person at accepting gifts-"

Ed laughs, the high-pitched laugh that lets David know his words have hit the right spot and makes him grin. "Must be, with ivy, holly, mistletoe-"

Ed's still laughing, but it dies away a little, and the two of them are looking at each other. Something's caught between them and David's suddenly aware of his own heartbeat.

He forces himself not to look up to check if there's mistletoe or not.

"Happy birthday" is what he says and then he realises he's still touching Ed's arm. "Well-" He tries to remember what he was about to do.

Ed nods. "Well." His hand touches David's sleeve then.

David moves to pat his arm-or squeeze his arm-or touch his shoulder-

But somehow-somehow, his hands move and they're on Ed's shoulders-and he's-

He's-well-his chin's moving over Miliband's shoulder-and they've-

He's-

He's hugging. Miliband.

Ed _Miliband-_

He's _hugging Ed Miliband-_

Miliband's warm and he's gone very still and that must be his shampoo, God, he smells good-

He's not mov-

Miliband's hands brush his shoulder blades and then his arms are around David's shoulders awkwardly and his chin is digging into David's shoulder but it-it's-

It's an awkward, fumbling hug. They both pat a little too many times on each other's backs. And then for a moment, Ed seems to press himself a little closer and David-

David just closes his eyes and-

Well-

It feels good-

When they pull apart, Ed's blushing. David had been expecting that. He can tell from the heat in his own cheeks that Ed isn't the only one.

Ed bites his lip, his eyes flickering away. David nods. "Ah-yes-"

"Well-"

"Ah-I didn't-" David doesn't stutter, but he makes a strange gesture, indicating Ed's general body. "Um. I hope I-"

"It's fine." Ed speaks a little too quickly and then he bites his lip again. "It's-um-that was-"

He blushes and suddenly, David's finding it hard to meet his eyes.

"Yes" is what Ed says eventually, a little garbled, and David looks at him for a moment. "Well. Well, I-"

"Yes. Um-"

David steps back and then, before he can stop himself, pats Ed's arm awkwardly. "Have a good holiday." He smiles. "Miliband."

It takes Ed a moment, but he smiles. "You too. Cameron."

* * *

"You cuddled Mr. Ed Miliband" Flo giggles in the car and David presses a kiss to her head.

"That's right."

"You gave each other a cuddle-"

"Well, that's what you do when you-"

He stops. He stops because he's not sure how to answer.

When you-

When you-

It's as though a big blank is there for what he and Miliband are. And he keeps reaching for what it could be.

"Daddy, how long 'til Father Christmas comes?"

And what will they-if that's how it is _now_, how will-

"Daddy?"

Flo's looking at him with big blue eyes. And he seems to have memorised the feeling of Ed's hands pressing gently into his shoulder blades.

And it's Christmas Eve.

So he pulls his daughter closer and begins a very serious conversation about Father Christmas and the many and varied problems of time, and just for a little while, the only thing he thinks about Ed Miliband is the way his chin nestled into David's shoulder.

But David can think that that was an accident, which he does, a little more firmly, as he turns back to Flo, pushes her hair behind her ears, and focuses very carefully on the debate that lies ahead of him, namely on whether or not Father Christmas prefers mince pies or chocolate biscuits, while his daughter crawls onto his lap.

* * *

_ Playlist _

_In It For Life-Sick Puppies-"You can act naive/But I know you're not stupid...Isn't that the way it plays? /The leaver leaves, the stayer stays/You wouldn't make a move/So I made mine.."_

_Belong-The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart-"When you came through the door/I felt everything and nothing that I had before/Tell yourself it's not yourself/But no one else can make me know there's no one else..Change your mind and stop the time/That comes between us, that bends beneath us...And you're the same, so slightly strange/Among the fakes you knew the pains/I know it is wrong/But me and you just don't belong/In their eyes, in the sun/Me and you just don't belong...._

_Never Know-Jack Johnson-"So I wanna give this imagery back/But I know it just ain't so easy like that/So I turn the page and read the story again and again and again/It sure seems the same with a different name/And we're breaking and rebuilding/and we're growing and we're guessing/Never knowing...Tell ya that the metaphor is better than yours'/And you can either sink or swim/Things are looking pretty grim/....Never knowing/Shocking, but we're nothing/We're just moments/Clever, but we're clueless/We're just human..."_

_'Til We Are Found-Samantha Savage Smith-"You are a moment, you are a person/I'd like to keep/We run down, down, down/'Til we are found"_

_Bedroom Door-Broods-"I know you, I know you/It's what you do, what you do/There's no need to disappear...So shut up the bedroom door/And shut out the world some more...You've had a hard day I know/I've had a hard day too, I can't forget with you"_

_All Of This-The Naked and Famous-"All of this is tearing us apart/I don't know where us or this starts"_

_ Drift-Daughter _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The PMQs depicted is here:https://bit.ly/38HKD6C  
Ed's Christmas card: https://goo.gl/images/19D581  
David's and Nick's cards:https://goo.gl/images/9mAabf  
https://goo.gl/images/D9RbVj  
Kate Fall, David's deputy chief of staff and known as his "gatekeeper", is rumoured to have gone out with George, but also denies they were "an item". She has also written a book about her time in Downing Street: https://bit.ly/2IzFJOH  
https://bit.ly/2W1qdD9  
You can see Kate in the documentary The Cameron Years:https://bit.ly/3bgIqAS  
https://bit.ly/2wsLtag  
Ed Balls loves The Sound Of Music-he and Yvette took their kids interrailing around Austria dressed as the Von Trapp children:https://bit.ly/38J08Lv  
https://bit.ly/2Iy4Ely  
The incident David refers to in his office took place in 2011, after he infamously told either Angela Eagle or Ed Balls (accounts vary) to "calm down, dear" during PMQs. He then took Ed up to his office and joked about what Sam and Justine would wear to then (then upcoming) Royal wedding:https://bit.ly/2xt2aTl  
http://dailym.ai/2xjnLxh  
Ed is obsessed with the Boston Red Sox:https://bit.ly/2TBKsWa  
The Octonauts is Daniel and Sam's favourite programme:https://bit.ly/2vLokQj  
https://bit.ly/2VXNEgx  
Ed and Justine did have to use Christmas card photos to personalise their kitchen for filming:https://bit.ly/3aJRa24  
Daniel and Sam did have to eat in the basement with their nanny, according to some accounts:https://bit.ly/2PYaErZ  
https://bit.ly/2TSpnG1  
https://bit.ly/2wJiIpF  
https://bit.ly/2VZkGwM  
The holiday is a holiday David went on in 1978, with Peter Getty, the son of the oil tycoon Getty family:http://dailym.ai/38Gb24X  
https://bit.ly/3aLJf4e  
Heatherdown has been criticised for its' excessively harsh regime towards the children in its' care, and for some of the staff it employed:http://dailym.ai/2W3o4Xo  
http://dailym.ai/3aLJJay  
Sam has a peanut allergy:  
https://bit.ly/2IAK587  
Nancy is an opera fan:http://dailym.ai/2PYbLIb  
Ed did say work was Justine's top priority, above him and the children:https://bit.ly/2TBMqG2  
Ed did rarely see them during the day:https://bit.ly/2TT1Zs3  
https://bit.ly/38GHxjn  
https://bit.ly/2TUY8uw


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